Candy Cane
by Jacinda
Summary: Jordan and Woody investigate the murders of several young prostitutes -FIN
1. Default Chapter

"Jordan . . . Jordan. Jesus Christ," Woody swore under his breath. Jordan was so pliable . . . so flaccid in his arms. Blood was dried and matted into her long chestnut hair . . . the wound was deep . . . gaping . . . it began to scab . . . the bloody drainage stained the sleeve of his suit jacket . . . saturated his dress shirt.  
  
"Jordan, the paramedics are on their way. You're going to be okay . . . Jordan, you're going to be okay," Woody whispered . . . the sirens began to wail in the distance . . . slowly becoming closer.  
  
Woody couldn't understand why Jordan was here . . . she must have come to his apartment to tell him something. He never thought that he would find her half-dead on his doorstep . . . she was talking crazy last night when she called his cell phone. Jordan kept saying that he needed to leave . . . he should come to the bar . . . he shouldn't be alone tonight. Woody wrote it off as Jordan's over-active imagination . . . she worried too much. He had to admit that the last few weeks had given her much to worry about. Right now, he couldn't think of much more than Jordan . . . he held her tight . . . only relinquishing his hold when the paramedics emerged on his doorstep.  
  
It dawned on him that he had slept through Jordan's attack.  
  
2 Months Prior.  
  
I made my way through the brush . . . sirens and lights illuminated the dusky evening sky. The embankment by the river was steep . . . I kept slipping as I tried to get to the crime scene. Dad always told me that I wore 'impractical' shoes to work . . . told me that I needed to start dressing more sensible. The sentiment was always echoed by Garrett.  
  
"Jordan, nice of you to show up," Woody said . . . sounding already exasperated . . . I slide down the rest of embankment . . . into his arms. I must have said something lame about women falling for him . . . he looked at me funny, but laughed it off.  
  
"So what's going on?" I asked as we walked along the river to the body.  
  
"It's the same guy . . . the river rapist. This time the girl he chose . . . has some significant political connections," Woody explained as we made our way through the swampy water.  
  
"How significant?" I asked intrigued.  
  
"This is the senator's runaway teenage daughter . . . Jordan, make this go away . . . fast," Woody said nervously.  
  
Nigel was taking plaster casts of the footprints near the body . . . Peter was busy snapping pictures of the deceased. The body was twisted . . . it was a sloppy drop. This was the same guy . . . the girl was fully clothed . . . no obvious signs of sexual assault. The girl was just strangled . . . it was angry . . . the murder was angry. The murderer was also clean . . . never leaving any useful forensic evidence.  
  
"Jordan, this is girl number six . . . you've got to help me stop this," Woody pleaded.  
  
"Let's let the body do the talking," Jordan said as she joined Peter and Nigel in processing the crime scene.  
  
Next Day: Autopsy  
  
"Broke her hyoid bone . . . that's it a clean break. Nothing . . . there is nothing else on this body . . . not a damn thing . . . it's clean. Nigel, tell me you found some trace evidence," I said exasperated . . . the young girl lay supine on my table . . . long brown hair flowing over the edge of the table . . . creamy white skin . . . a stark contrast to the pale white skin.  
  
"A few carpet fibers . . . you are going to love this carpet fibers, Jordan," Nigel said waving me over to the microscope, "Very high quality fibers . . . . very expensive carpet."  
  
"She wasn't raped . . . so the guy took her home to kill her and clean her up. That's awful risky . . . being seen with her for the ride home," I pondered, "What the hell. Did we find any ID on the girl?"  
  
"Woodrow found her purse. Condoms galore," Nigel commented.  
  
"How much money was on her? Nigel, what does a teenage hooker go for these days?" I asked as I looked over the results of her tox screen . . . I was dismayed to see that it was negative for everything except estradiol . . . birth control pills.  
  
"Love, she had mucho money on her. Why would you ask me how much a hooker goes for?" Nigel asked raising his eyebrow.  
  
"You always seem to know everything else," I replied . . . stared at the girl on the table.  
  
"I don't know if that's a compliment or not. How about if I run a trace on these fibers?" Nigel said straightening up . . . leaving the room to go through a vast number of binders containing information on all the bric-a- brac that Boston had to offer.  
  
"I'll find out what the job pays," I left the autopsy room . . . picked up my jacket from my office . . . headed out to the street.  
  
1 Hour Later: Stringer Street  
  
The prostitutes roamed the street day and night . . . girls that should have been in school that day. They looked like baby thirty year olds . . . they have lost all their innocence . . . all they had left was the vague notion that sex somehow equated to love. I walked the streets . . . no one wanted to talk to me. They made sexual comments . . . duragatory . . . it made me cringe to hear that out of a teenager's mouth.  
  
"Hey, you . . . leopard and lace," I called out . . . the girl looked scared, "I'm not a cop."  
  
That seemed to relax her a little.  
  
"I want to ask you about Candice . . . uhh . . . Candy Cane," I cringed when I used her street name.  
  
"What's to know?" the girl asked . . . putting on a snobby front to conceal her fear.  
  
"I want to know everything about her . . . what did she charge . . . who was a regular . . . why was she doing this," I rambled, "I'll buy you a nice meal."  
  
"Fine, but you can't use my name . . . every girl that snitched to the police was killed," the girl said following me down the street.  
  
"I'm Jordan . . . the police would shit if they knew that I was out here talking to you," I commented as we entered a dirty café.  
  
"Jordan . . . who's doing this?" the girl asked suddenly becoming a girl . . . shedding her thirty year old skin.  
  
"What did you know about Candice?" I asked . . . as the waitress came over to our table.  
  
"She wasn't in it for the money . . . she charged only twenty dollars an hour. It made her popular . . . took a lot of business away from the other girls. Not many people liked her," the girl replied . . . she ordered chocolate chip pancakes.  
  
"Why'd she do that? Didn't she need to make a living?" I asked . . . I sipped the strong black coffee.  
  
"She didn't need the money . . . some guy always gave her money . . . a pretty large paycheck," the girl commented.  
  
"So . . . who was the guy?" I asked.  
  
"I don't know . . . Candice said that she couldn't tell . . . he would get in trouble . . . she would be in even more trouble," the girl said.  
  
"Where can I find the guy?" I asked.  
  
"He came around about once a month . . . big black car . . . Mercedes. She never had sex with him . . . he just gave her a handout. Candy called him the sugar daddy," the girl said as she inhaled her food.  
  
"What did he look like?" I asked.  
  
"He was tall . . . had really dark almost black hair . . . his hands were always manicured. He wore a black trench coat . . . and a hat . . . like the one Dick Tracy wore," the girl said . . . I paid the bill.  
  
"Hey, thanks," I said . . . I tossed her a twenty . . . she smiled . . . I told her to be careful.  
  
Day 1: An Hour Later – Police Station  
  
"You did what?" Woody asked, "You paid off a girl to tell you about Candice. Jordan, you need to be more careful."  
  
"Woody, don't you at least want to hear what I have to say," I asked . . . I leaned up against his desk.  
  
"I have a feeling that you are going to tell me anyway," Woody said . . . nervously pacing the room.  
  
"The money Candice had . . . it wasn't from her jobs. She charged twenty bucks an hour," I began.  
  
"Wow . . . isn't that a little on the low side," Woody said finally taking interest in what I was saying.  
  
"Yeah . . . the majority of the money is from this 'sugar daddy' . . . she never had sex with him . . . he just gave her a handout once a month," I continued, "He was tall . . . drove a dark Mercedes . . . wore a black trench coat . . . had manicured hands. This girl had an upper crust friend that was taking care of her."  
  
"I don't understand this case . . . the other girls . . . did they get hand outs?"  
  
"No, they ratted the girl out to the cops . . . if they talked about Candice . . . they were taken care of," I replied.  
  
"Jordan, what do I do next?" Woody asked.  
  
"Let's go look at some carpet," I suggested standing up. "Jordan," Woody lamented as he put on his jacket. 


	2. Chapter 2

Day 2: Trace Evidence  
  
"Detective Hoyt . . . Dr. Cavanaugh . . . let me tell you a story about fine carpet fibers . . . the type of carpet fibers that you don't see in just any building," Nigel narrated as he focused the microscope for me to look into.  
  
"Nigel, let's skip the story . . . tell me what I need to know," I said coarsely . . . I hadn't slept last night . . . I kept thinking about leopard and lace . . . wondering if she was going to be next.  
  
"Your fibers are in three buildings in Boston . . . nice high-rise buildings," Nigel said.  
  
"High-rise? Thirty floors of fine fibers?" Woody asked as he began to pace the room again . . . his hands were shaking . . . the senator had been on television last night . . . on every channel.  
  
"No, three buildings . . . only certain offices in each building. We have fibers in the office of a J. Abrams Richards in the downtown district . . . an office of a dentist . . . and in the office of a psychiatrist . . . three buildings . . . one office in each building," Nigel explained.  
  
"Nigel, you are . . . ," Woody began ," Absolutely amazing."  
  
Woody's face began to light up . . . like a child's on Christmas Day. Woody began to gather his things . . . jot down the addresses. I looked at the fibers . . . the invoices that Nigel had printed out.  
  
"Jordan, are you coming?" Woody asked as he waited in the doorway.  
  
Day 2: Dr. Alan Bradke, DDS –office visit  
  
"No, I'm sorry. I've never had Candice Ellington as a patient . . . never had anyone in the family as a patient," the dentist explained as he flipped through his rolodex.  
  
"What time do you open and close the office?" Woody said as jotted down notes on a small notepad.  
  
"We open at 8 in the morning and close at 5 in the evening . . . we are closed weekends," Alan calmly replied . . . I knew from the look in his eyes that it wasn't him . . . he volunteered a DNA sample . . . let us take some carpet fibers. He was embarrassed . . . it was a high end cosmetic dentistry practice.  
  
Woody looked over at me . . . relentless . . . he wanted someone to blame . . . he wanted that now. His nerves were shot . . . there was so much pressure on him to find out who murdered the senator's daughter.  
  
"Who has access to your office during the night and evening hours?" Woody asked.  
  
"No one . . . the cleaning crew comes through early in the morning. Would you like the video tapes? I have several cameras around the office," the dentist volunteered.  
  
"Sure, sure that sounds great," Woody replied.  
  
Day 2: Westbrooke Delicatessen  
  
"Woody, you need to eat something," I lectured . . . I was probably the last person to offer unsolicited advice . . . my actions often times causes more problems than it does good.  
  
"Jordan . . . not now. I'm not hungry," Woody crabbed . . . he worked on shredding a napkin into tiny pieces.  
  
"Woody, I bought you a sandwich . . . the least you could do is pretend to eat it," I replied as I concentrated on my own lunch.  
  
"When did you become the leading authority on good etiquette," Woody snapped.  
  
"Fine, I'm going back to the morgue. Don't come around until you can be the Woody that I know," I replied exasperated . . . grabbing my lunch quickly and storming off . . . I hadn't been mad a minute ago . . . it was this case . . . this stupid case . . . the stupid senator.  
  
Day 5: Blood and Body Fluid Analysis  
  
"Woody isn't in tow?" Garrett asked as I silently matched DNA profiles . . . I still used transparencies . . . it was ancient technology . . . but it was a small comfort.  
  
"No, I'm flying solo for awhile," I replied as Garrett rested his hands on my shoulders.  
  
"So who's going to keep you out of trouble," Garrett teased . . . he said it so seriously, but I knew what he meant . . . he was one of the only people that I had let get to know me . . . in turn he allowed me to get to know him.  
  
"These DNA profiles are going to keep me busy," I replied as a placed another transparency to the transparency containing the DNA profile gleaned from Candice . . . a tiny piece of skin located under her perfectly manicured nails . . . an XY profile.  
  
"Jordan, it's late . . . you've spent days on this DNA. Go home and get some sleep," Garrett lectured.  
  
"Only if you do," I replied knowing very well that he was staying late again . . . I could hear his record player playing Frank Sinatra . . . I had been singing to it a few minutes ago.  
  
"Can't do that . . . budget reports," Garrett replied hopelessly as he headed for the door, "Jordan, give yourself a break."  
  
"Thanks, Garrett . . . I'll take that under advisement," I replied laughing . . . I let the DNA consume my thoughts . . . nothing matched.  
  
Three of the four offices had been extremely easy to work with . . . all the male employees had voluntarily given up blood samples . . . the politician's office had been another story. J. Abrams Richards . . . running for governor's office . . . he proved tougher to deal with. He didn't want any media attention . . . no bad press was all that he could say to me. I was ushered into back doors . . . transported in black limousines with tinted windows . . . hush, hush . . . he had whispered that in my ear.  
  
I had gotten a bad vibe from him from the beginning . . . his hands were so soft . . . well manicured . . . his smile so smug. It didn't seem right for someone facing such serious allegations . . . I called Woody . . . he didn't answer. He hadn't been answering my telephone calls anymore . . . the desk sergeant told me not to take it personal . . . Woody was under immense pressure . . . I did take it personal.  
  
The hours passed so slowly as I analyzed different coding regions . . . nothing . . . there was nothing. At three in the morning, I decided to go home . . . in anticipation of another long, disappointing day.  
  
Day 7: Dalton Park (4 am)  
  
"Dr. Cavanaugh," Woody said as he pointed to the crime scene . . . a jogger had found a body in the brush . . . it was a popular jogging trail.  
  
"So we meet again," I said trying to smile . . . I pulled on a pair of latex gloves as I followed Woody to the crime scene.  
  
"Don't try to be cute with me, Jordan. I'm not in the mood," Woody grumbled, "Child prostitute . . . I don't have an ID on her yet, but she was strangled . . . body is still warm."  
  
He talked fast . . . without missing a beat.  
  
"Jordan . . . Woody . . . the gang is all hear," Bug grumbled as he yawned and rubbed his eyes . . . he wasn't a morning person . . . he never would be.  
  
I had talked to Nigel about Woody . . . Nigel in turn probably had told Bug . . . he was extremely protective of the people that he cared about. Bug had never been a fan of Woody . . . the few times that they had closely worked together, Bug was left with a bitter taste in his mouth . . . especially when it came down to the subject of Lily.  
  
"Let's go to it," I said as Bug and I began to photograph the scene as we emerged upon it . . . looking at it with virgin eyes . . . it was the best way to capture the scene . . . capture it as you first saw it.  
  
"Jordan," Bug said . . . it fell upon deaf ears . . . I was frozen in my tracks . . . it was her . . . Leopard and Lace . . . the baby woman that I had bought chocolate chip pancakes . . . I suddenly felt ill.  
  
"Jordan," Bug said as he rushed to my side . . . helping me sit down on the paved jogging path . . . dizzy among the blue and red flashing lights, "Jordan, are you okay?"  
  
I nodded . . . but I felt dizzy . . . my mind raced . . . had I killed her . . . had he been watching me buy her breakfast . . . had someone decided to rat on the young girl . . . the girl that had been so terrified of meeting an early demise . . . the girl that so bravely pointed me in the right direction. I could feel the tears burn my eyes . . . I heard Bug say something about calling Dr. Macy . . . that if I was sick . . . I should go home. All the words were so fragmented in my mind . . . all I could here was her voice . . . scared. I wondered what I had done . . . it dawned upon me that I was the reason that she was here. I had never felt this kind of shear terror . . . grief . . . shame . . . all at the same time. My stomach churned . . . I vomited in the bushes twenty feet north of the crime scene. 


	3. Chapter 3

Day 12: Max's Bar  
  
"Feeling better," Dad asked me as I sat at the bar . . . he had a beer waiting for me . . . it didn't look appealing.  
  
"I'm better . . . I just needed a few days to get over the flu," I lied . . . I had spent five days lying in bed . . . barely able to move . . . consumed by guilt.  
  
"How's the case?" Dad asked me . . . he watched me swirl my beer . . . take a sip . . . swirl the amber liquid some more.  
  
"I don't know . . . Peter was working on it this week . . . he left me a couple messages, but I just wasn't feeling up to it," I rambled.  
  
"Is this the same Jordan talking . . . what's going on with this case that's got you so . . . cooperative," Dad asked me.  
  
"I don't know, Dad," I said.  
  
"You and Woody . . . this whole town seems to be going crazy. This isn't good for business, Jordan," Dad lectured.  
  
"Why? What happened to Woody?" I asked growing concerned . . . I hadn't heard from him in five days . . . not a word.  
  
"Some guy was hassling him last night . . . the guy said something about blood samples and an election," Dad replied . . . noting that I had suddenly begun to take some interest in what he was saying.  
  
"Do you know who the guy was?" I asked.  
  
"Said he was with the Richards campaign . . . didn't want Woody to stir up controversy," Dad replied.  
  
"Dad, I need your help . . . can I come back at bar time?" I asked as I began to stand up.  
  
"Jordan, you better be here," Dad said looking concerned . . . more concerned for my safety than anyone else I knew.  
  
I stormed out of the bar . . . ran down the street in the rain. I had no idea where I was running . . . I found myself in the park . . . Dalton Park . . . running down the jogging path . . . my lungs hurt . . . I stood still for a moment . . . my chest tight . . . my hard pounding. I looked around . . . silent . . . dead silent . . . no noise . . . just me and my thoughts.  
  
I heard footsteps . . . I instinctively turned around to locate there source. A figure moved toward me . . . almost floating on the wet grass. My heart began to pound harder . . . I called out to the figure . . . told him my name . . . asked what he wanted. He didn't replied . . . he just continued to float on the grass toward me . . . the rain caused my hair to stick to my face . . . drops made trails into my eyes . . . partially occluding my vision. My voice shook as I called out again . . . he didn't respond . . . I began to run again . . . run into the woods.  
  
I could hear the footfalls growing near . . . I concentrated on running as fast as my feet would carry me . . . the scenery became a blur in my periphery . . . I prayed that I was hallucinating . . . that there wasn't really anyone chasing me. The figure had closed the gap . . . I could nearly feel his breathe on my neck as I tried to run faster. I fell . . . the blacktop scraping my hands as I tried to get back on my feet.  
  
I felt something connect with my head . . . my vision blurred . . . periphery grew black and my point of focus exploded into a million points of light. I tried to yell . . . but the blackness took over.  
  
Day 13: Dalton Park (4 am – Woody's POV)  
  
I dreaded the phone call . . . I hated picking up the telephone at night. Telephone calls so seldom offered any good news . . . at least these last few months had done nothing but haunt me with the faces of dead teenagers. Dispatch had called tonight . . . said there was a woman found down in Dalton Park . . . she was alive . . . found not too far from where the body of Elizabeth Perkins was left to die less than a week ago. Dispatch thought that it might be related . . . the attack pattern was the same. There was no struggle . . . gaping head wound . . . strangling. The operator had reported that a security man had walked in on the attack . . . a dark figure was trying to strangle the woman . . . shots were fired . . . the security man wasn't sure if he hit the figure . . . CSI was there to look for the bullets. What a shitty job.  
  
I walked the park . . . I began to know this jogging path rather intimately. I searched for a familiar face . . . I called Nigel asked him to come collect evidence . . . I trusted him. Nigel wasn't thrilled at the prospect . . . he asked me to call Jordan . . . she was well rested coming off her sick leave. I told him I wanted him . . . someone without an agenda.  
  
"Dr. Macy?" I said . . . it wasn't the statement I intended to give . . . it was more of a question.  
  
"Nigel left in the ambulance . . . your boys aren't talking to me," Garrett replied . . . meticulously photographing the crime scene . . . mumbled something about the rain and CSI doing a shitty job.  
  
"What happened to Nigel?" I asked . . . the rain poured down around me . . . soaking through my coat . . . sinking into my shoes . . . made that squishing feeling every time I walked.  
  
"Nigel went with Jordan to the hospital," Garrett replied . . . nervously clicking more photographs than I thought was possible.  
  
"Dr. Macy," Peter yelled as he ran up to the older man, "She's breathing on her own . . . Nigel said she doesn't remember anything."  
  
"Did her physical exam pan out okay?" Garrett said . . . I wasn't sure what he meant . . . I stared at the men . . . excused myself to find the patrol officers already on the scene.  
  
"What the hell happened here?" I asked one of the patrol officers.  
  
"Someone tried to strangle Dr. Cavanaugh . . . security caught him in the act . . . pure luck," the man replied calmly.  
  
"I want ever inch of the crime scene protected . . . I want CSI here until they have processed everything. No one is leaving until every millimeter of this scene has been processed," I ordered . . . leaving the patrol men . . . walking over to Dr. Macy and Dr. Winslow.  
  
"Let's go," I said to Dr. Macy.  
  
"Peter, Bug will be here soon . . . process everything," Garrett said gruffly as he followed me to my car, "What do you think Jordan got into?"  
  
"I think it's the senator's daughter . . . she must have been on to something," I replied as I turned on the siren and lights.  
  
"Is that necessary?" Garrett asked . . . still nervous around me . . . worried about Jordan.  
  
"You want to see her don't you?" I replied.  
  
Day 13: Boston General Hospital  
  
I laid back into the pillows . . . my head was killing me . . . a few images of last night continued to haunt me. I couldn't sleep . . . despite all the painkillers and sleeping pills that had been prescribed. Dad left only an hour ago . . . I made him leave . . . he needed to go get something to eat . . . I was going to be fine. Woody and Garrett had camped out in the family room . . . the nurse ratted on them . . . I had told them to go home hours ago.  
  
"Still awake?" Woody asked as he walked into my tiny hospital room . . . pretending that he didn't just wake up . . . trying to straighten himself out.  
  
"So you are going to talk to me again?" I asked trying to smile . . . desperately trying to keep from crying.  
  
"How are you feeling?" Woody asked as he sat next to my bed.  
  
"Tired . . . sore," I admitted . . . my head needed fifteen stitches . . . my neck had begun to bruise . . . deep purple bruises.  
  
"I'm glad you are okay," Woody said softly.  
  
"So am I," I replied as I stared straight ahead . . . trying my hardest not to cry . . . I don't know why he always made me feel . . . emotions were so much safer when they were locked away.  
  
"What do you know, Jordan?" Woody asked.  
  
"The strange thing is this time I don't know anything . . . I have nothing . . . no good DNA evidence . . . no name . . . no witness," I rambled . . . the tears threatening to fall down my face.  
  
"All I have is a hunch," Woody admitted . . . I hadn't noticed that he was holding my hand . . . so small in his . . . his hands warm . . . sweaty.  
  
"J. Abrams Richards," I replied.  
  
"Yeah . . . what would the value of Candice Ellington be to him?" Woody asked.  
  
"Why would he need to kill child prostitutes to protect himself?" I added, "Who do you want to be . . . J. Abrams Richards or Candice Ellington?" 


	4. Chapter 4

Day 13: Boston General Hospital  
  
"Jordan, you were just attacked. Do you really want to play this game right now?" Woody asked concerned that I was pushing it . . . I lived my entire life trying to the push the limits.  
  
"I'll be Candice . . . why would you want to strangle me?" I asked Woody.  
  
"I couldn't have . . . I was campaigning in Northern Massachusetts," Woody replied . . . relenting . . . agreeing to play my game.  
  
"What about the guy at the bar?" I asked.  
  
"The campaign manager . . . he was in town . . . he was taking care of some fundraising that night," Woody replied.  
  
"Okay, why would the campaign manager want to strangle me?" I asked.  
  
"You used to be important to me . . . but then something changed," Woody replied.  
  
"You never had sex with me . . . did you give me money?" I asked.  
  
"I don't know . . . your father didn't support the Richards' campaign . . . what if . . . what if I was going to expose you to the media. I paid you to lay low while I set the stage to embarrass the hell out of your father . . . blackmail him into a huge donation," Woody rambled.  
  
"What if I told my father about you? I told him what they were planning to do. Maybe I was planning to disappear . . . maybe go back home to my family?" I asked.  
  
"It was time for your monthly pay off . . . but you told me that you were backing out of our deal," Woody said.  
  
"I told you to leave my dad alone. I didn't want to do this anymore," I replied.  
  
"I told you I wanted to talk to you . . . we would have a nice meal . . . I took you back to campaign headquarters," Woody said.  
  
"We fought . . . no one else was in the building. I scratched you . . . you were bigger than me," I replied.  
  
"I hit you in the back of the head . . . with . . . something off my desk . . . I hadn't intended to murder you," Woody replied.  
  
"I crumpled to the ground . . . face down," I replied.  
  
"I flipped you over and strangled you . . . I was really pissed . . . I was yelling at you. I took you out the service elevator . . . I knew there weren't any cameras back there. I dumped you by the river," Woody replied.  
  
"Why did you kill everyone else?" I asked.  
  
"They threatened to expose Candice . . . her line of work, how much she charged, and who her father was . . . it wasn't the right time," Woody replied.  
  
"Does this seem right?" I asked . . . excited that maybe this was the lead we needed.  
  
"Maybe . . . Jordan, feel better. I should get going . . . see if I can get a search warrant and bank records for the campaign," Woody said as he stood up . . . began to walk to the door.  
  
"I'm going with you," I said as I tried to push myself out of the bed . . . my body ached.  
  
"Jordan, no . . . I promised Max. You need to stay here," Woody said as he tried to help me back into bed, "Jordan, I'll wake up Garrett and make him sit with you."  
  
"Woody, you'll need someone to process the office . . . Nigel can do the computer work . . . Woody, let me help . . . I need to do this," I pleaded.  
  
"Jordan, no. Could you please listen to me this time?" Woody asked as he sat on the edge of my hospital bed . . . I began to cry . . . I hated crying . . . I hated it more when people saw me cry . . . I tried to hold it in.  
  
He wrapped his arms around me . . . letting me sob. I wasn't really sure what I was crying about . . . Elizabeth Perkins . . . Candice Ellington . . . me . . . the other girls . . . the fact that I couldn't be involved in the investigation. I thought of Elizabeth . . . what I had done to her . . . I should have listened to Woody . . . maybe even common sense. I wondered if I made things worse . . . what would happen when I went home. I could smell his cologne . . . I choked on my sobs . . . my head hurt . . . my throat hurt. I could feel Woody's arms around me . . . one gently stroking my hair. He whispered in my ear . . . every thing would be okay . . . it wasn't okay.  
  
Day 14: Max's House  
  
"Dad, I want to go home," I said as I helped him make macaroni and cheese for supper.  
  
"The doctor said to keep an eye on you for a few days . . . Jordan, you want a hot dog?" Max asked as he stirred the neon orange concoction . . . I said I felt like a child again . . . Dad replied that I would have needed to be an adult to be able to revert to being a child.  
  
"Jordan, I want you to move in with me for a few weeks . . . just to make sure that you are safe," Dad said as he dished out the macaroni . . . cut up my hot dog like he did when I was a little girl.  
  
"Dad, it's going to be okay . . . you should be getting ready to go man the bar," I commented as I picked at my food.  
  
"Not until Woody gets here," Dad said.  
  
"Dad, I don't need a baby-sitter," I complained.  
  
"Jordan, someone tried to murder you . . . I am not letting you alone just yet. Jordan, you are my only girl . . . you'll have to put up with this until I die," Max kidded, "This crap tastes rotten."  
  
"Pepperoni and extra cheese?" I asked.  
  
"You call . . . I'll get rid of this stuff," I said as I pushed my plate towards Dad.  
  
The doorbell rang . . . my heart began to pound inside my chest. Dad said that he would get the door . . . I followed him to the door . . . like a child I hid behind him. I scolded myself for being so scared . . . for letting this man . . . that floating figure terrorize me in my home. I sighed when Dad let Woody into the house . . . Dad told me he would pick up some food on the way to the bar . . . I should still order a pizza . . . he would leave me money . . . I was thirteen years old again. Dad pulled Woody into the kitchen . . . I could hear them talking as I called for my pizza. I heard something about not letting me out of his sight . . . Dad said he trusted Woody . . . now I was reliving the night of my prom. I was ready to go home.  
  
"Jordan, sweetheart, call me if you need anything. Make sure to keep the doors locked . . . take your medicine tonight before you go to bed," Dad rambled as he kissed me on the cheek, "Woody, you watch her."  
  
We watched him walk out the door . . . I locked all the locks on the door.  
  
"I just relived the days when the neighbor girl used to baby-sit me . . . not to mention the night Eddie took me to the prom. Woody, I'm sorry . . . if you have somewhere else to be, you should go," I said as I retreated to the couch . . . Woody following close behind me.  
  
"Jordan, I promised Max," Woody said, "What do you want to watch?"  
  
"I'm sick of watching TV. Could you tell me what you found? I couldn't get a hold of Nigel," I said.  
  
"Blood spatter . . . the guy's name is Todd Jacobson . . . he said he cut his hand a few days ago. I've been working on getting a search warrant for his body . . . I want to look for scratches," Woody said as he flipped through the channels.  
  
"What about Richards? What does he have to say?"  
  
"His alibi is air-tight . . . most of the murders coincide with TV appearances and rallies. It's not him . . . I'd bet all my money on Jacobson," Woody replied.  
  
"Financial records?"  
  
"Peter is working on them . . . he's going to stop by tonight to fill me in . . . I thought you would appreciate a little update on the case," Woody said smiling.  
  
"You're good," I commented. 


	5. Chapter 5

Day 14: Max's House (continued)

I hid in the corner of the room as Woody opened the door. My heart pounded and my stomach churned . . . I damned the man that did this to me. It was Peter . . . I was overjoyed to see that it was Peter. I ran to him . . . he hugged me . . . told me that I was looking a lot better . . . asked me if I was getting enough rest. I nodded . . . Peter and Nigel held me as they waited for an ambulance . . . the security guard thought that I was dead. Peter had wrapped his jacket around me . . . Nigel had held me close to him trying to keep me warm. Nigel recounted it . . . I couldn't remember it.

I sat down on the couch . . . offered Peter some pizza or a soda. I said that I would go get his soda . . . I could hear Woody and Peter talking. I was alone in the kitchen . . . I don't know why, but I turned around and looked out the small window over the sink. I saw someone floating on the grass . . . a long trench coat . . . black . . . his features were hid in the blackness.

I couldn't scream . . . I could feel my heart pounding against my chest wall. I dropped the can of soda . . . I could hear Peter and Woody talking, but I couldn't understand what they were saying. I was fixated on the figure floating towards me . . . the words were stuck in my throat . . . I wasn't even sure if I could move. I could feel myself shaking.

Woody's POV

I heard something fall in the kitchen.

"Jordan, you okay?" I called out . . . I waited several seconds for a response. I stood up from the couch . . . Peter stood up too. He asked me if I thought something was wrong . . . I walked quickly into the kitchen.

Jordan was frozen in front of the sink . . . she was staring out the window. I walked over to the window to see what she was looking at . . . something stood still twenty feet from the window.

"He floated on the grass," Jordan whispered . . . in some kind of trance . . . the figure never moved.

"Peter, stay with Jordan," I pulled my gun out of its holster . . . I ran to the back door . . . unlocked all the locks. I could hear Jordan begging me not to go . . . calling my name as I ran out of the house.

My footfalls thudded on the pavement as I ran towards the figure. I screamed that I was the police . . . he should put his hands up. The figure began to run . . . he was fast, but I was pretty sure that I was faster. I yelled again . . . he ran around the corner quickly . . . he ran into an alley way.

I stopped at the mouth of the alley . . . it was empty. It was stupid for me to go alone . . . I raised my gun. I went into the alley my back against the wall . . . the moon dimly illuminated the alley. I turned the corner . . . a figure sprinted to the end of the alley. I aimed at the ankle . . . I fired two shots . . . the figure kept running. I followed him around the corner . . . I lost him. He must have ducked into one of the ten bars on the street . . . all had multiple exits . . . I wouldn't catch him . . . tonight.

Peter's POV

Jordan clung to me . . . she was begging for Woody not to go. Jordan leaned heavily on me . . . she was screaming. I wrapped my arms around her . . . I lowered her to the kitchen floor. I wrapped my arms around her . . . held her tightly . . . she began to cry . . . she was crying so hard that she could barely breathe.

I pulled out my cell phone . . . call 911 as I tried to calm Jordan down. I tried to tell the operator the Woody went after a guy that was trespassing on the Cavanaugh property. I told her that I thought it was the guy that attacked Jordan last night.

Jordan clung to me . . . begging me to protect her.

Day 20: Morgue

"Jordan, go back home . . . I told you last night to take some more time off," Garrett lectured me as I walked passed and into my office . . . he followed me . . . closing my office door behind him.

"Jordan, go home," He looked me dead in the eyes . . . I pretended to ignore him.

"Garrett, I can't be home anymore . . . I'm slowly going crazy. I just want to do some work . . . give me a cold case to stare at for a few hours," I pleaded.

"Jordan, you stay in this office," Garrett said relenting, "Hey, I'm glad to see that you are okay. You had Peter a little freaked out."

"Yah, it wasn't one of my best moments," I replied.

"Jordan, you do know . . . you do know that I really," Garrett stammered.

"Yah, I do too," I hugged him . . . he hugged me back. I knew what he was trying to say . . . I spent most of my life trying to say the same thing . . . I did twice.

"You come get me if you need anything," Garret said as he let go of me, "Woody sent an extra guard to watch the corridor."

"I don't need that. Garrett, there are so many people around here . . . it would be too risky," I replied knowing that was a line of crap . . . he came back for me when there was a cop in my living room.

"Hey, I don't want to interrupt," Woody said as he poked his head into my office.

"Just leaving," Garrett said as he reminded me to stay in my office with the door closed . . . he would get me a case file and personally deliver it.

"How did you get here this morning?" Woody asked.

"Dad dropped me off at the curb and walked me in," I replied . . . I felt like a child, but I felt so much safer when there was some type of armed guard with me.

"Good. Jordan, there was blood in the alley," Woody said as he sat down in a chair across from me.

"You shot him?" I asked.

"His ankle . . . I must have nicked him. I'm checking hospital records today . . . I'm also turning all my information over to the DA. I think that we can issue a warrant for the arrest of Todd Jacobson," Woody said smiling, "Maybe this will all be over in a few hours."

"Thank you, Woody," I said relieved . . . thinking that maybe my life could become my own again . . . I could stop wearing the scarf around my neck . . .the bruises were still yellow and orange discolorations taking over my neck . . . the stitches wouldn't come out for a few more days . . . my hair would grow back slowly . . . thank god they only shave a little . . . a ponytail cleverly hid my wound.

"I wanted to take you out to dinner . . . I want to celebrate . . . that is if you even feel up to it," Woody asked.

"If it gets me out of Dad's spare room for a few hours, I'd go just about anywhere with you," I replied smiling . . . it was hard to be sequestered for so long . . . in the last six days, I had someone awake with me 24/7. Nigel, Peter, Bug, Woody, and Dad took turns watching me . . . doing checks of the perimeter . . . Dad showed Bug how to hold and fire a gun . . . Bug pretended to be okay with it . . . he told me that Dad scared the hell out of him.

"Jordan, I'm glad to see you out of Max's house. Just please use your head . . . call me if you need anything," Woody lectured as he stood up . . . he walked around the desk and kissed me on the forehead.

"You put yourself as number one on my speed dial," I teased.

"Yah, I did. Jordan, please be careful today," Woody repeated . . . he whispered in my ear . . . his breath hot against the scarf on my neck.

Day 20: Interrogation Room (Woody's POV)

"Mr. Jacobson, how do you explain that your DNA was underneath the nails of Candice Ellington?" I asked . . . exasperated that this little prick would not talk to me . . . he tried all his legalese . . . threatened countersuits. My sergeant told me to keep going . . . that this is what the department needed.

"I like cheap child whores . . . I picked her up that night. I wanted to have sex with her," Jacobson lied.

"Funny, there weren't any abrasions in her groin area . . . no spermicide . . . absolutely no signs of intercourse. Do you want to try explaining the DNA once more?" I pushed.

"I like it rough . . . I asked her to scratch me," he lied again.

"You wanted to be scratch on the arm . . . did you want to try once more?" I instructed.

"You don't know how deep this thing goes . . . you don't want to do this," Jacobson threatened . . . he smiled at me . . . his gaze was steely . . . he looked like some sort of weird man-child. The red hair and freckles . . . they attempted to soften what was so cold.

"Tell me what I need to know," I replied.

"That little slut approached me . . . she wanted to humiliate her father or she wanted one big payday. I knew that our budget was getting tight . . . so I signed on with the project. Abrams didn't know a thing about it," Jacobson squealed.

"The other girls?"

"They were getting in the way . . . they needed to be taken care of. They are all greedy whores . . . they wanted money in exchange for silence . . . I made them be silent," Jacobson replied . . . he face growing cold.

"Why did you kill Candice?"

"I got what I wanted . . . she wanted more . . . she threatened to expose me and her father. She needed to be dealt with," he replied.

"That seems a little cut and dry . . . I don't see how it runs deeper," I replied . . . I thought I was just thinking this . . . I didn't mean to actually say it.

"You'd be surprised," Jacobson said . . . he asked for paper to write his confession.

"You do know that I will be walking outside in the sunshine within the next three hours right . . . I'll make sure that this confession gets thrown out . . . you wouldn't believe that what politicians can do," Jacobson quipped as I left the room, "Oh, tell your girlfriend to sleep with the doors locked."

I was ready to jump over the table and kill him myself.


	6. Chapter 6

Day 20: Morgue

I played with a pen . . . clicked the plunger a million times in an hour. I just wanted to hear the noise . . . Garrett told me that Woody made the arrest. Woody was headed over here right now . . . Garrett said that Woody told him not to let me out of his sight. Garrett locked my office door sat next to me . . . he knew a lot more than he was saying. He watched me play with the pen . . . I had barely looked at the file sitting right in front of me. Garrett smiled at me . . . nervously . . . told me to give him the damn pen.

"Jordan, I want you to take a nice long vacation . . . I want you and Max to disappear for a few weeks," Garrett said solemnly . . . his head down . . . he couldn't look me in the eyes.

"It's getting worse?" I asked . . . my voice was shaking, "I thought Jacobson would be arrested . . . then this would be over."

"It's not getting better. Jordan, Jacobson is making threats . . . Woody said that this wasn't a one-person serial killer . . . this is some kind of network of corruption. Jordan, you have to be very careful," Garrett said . . . he held my hands . . . the air was trapped in my chest . . . I felt like I needed to gasp for air . . . I became more acutely aware of the pain in my neck and head. Garrett looked me dead in the eyes . . . his eyes told me the whole story . . . he didn't even need to talk anymore.

"Garrett, I wouldn't even know where to go," I said . . . "I can't ask Dad to leave the Pogue."

"It's okay. We'll figure it out. Right now, I just want you to stay where I can see you," Garrett said as he wrapped his arms around me . . . holding me close to his chest as I began to cry again . . . I wanted to erase the last few months.

The knocking on the door startled me . . . Garrett let Woody in. I tried to conceal the fact that I was crying again . . . Woody asked Garrett if I knew . . . Garrett said something that I couldn't hear . . . I felt like I was in a trance.

"Jordan, let's go get you packed up," Woody said as he helped me to my feet, "Jordan, we need to get you out of Boston."

"Where are you taking me?" I asked through the steady stream of tears I was unsuccessfully trying to fight.

"I don't know yet . . . but it's not safe for you to stay here anymore. I called Max already . . . Nigel is on his way in . . . am I forgetting anything?" Woody asked moving frantically . . . he knew something more than he was telling me . . . someone was really serious about killing me . . . destroying all the physical evidence in the case.

"Love, you be careful," Nigel said as I hugged him . . . I told him that I didn't want to go . . . he told me to buck up . . . that a little time away from Boston might be good for me right now . . . I said that I loved him . . . he said he loved me too . . . I cried harder as Woody encouraged me to move faster . . . it was like I was caught in a nightmare.

I waved to Garrett and Nigel as Woody and I left . . . we had to use the freight elevator to leave the building . . . I hoped that I would get to see them again. Little did I know that the bomb squad had intercepted a package containing a bomb . . . the package was meant for me.

Day 20: Boston PD – Woody's POV

"I don't even know what to tell you," Eddie said as he rested his hands in his head . . . Jordan lay across the couch in my office . . . she had finally cried herself to sleep. Two small suitcases lay on the ground next to the couch . . . mine was in the trunk of the car.

"We've got to get both of you out of Boston," Max said . . . he sat on the corner of my desk . . . Eddie called him to ask for help . . . Eddie had no idea what to do.

"We've got to make sure that this stays quiet," I said, "Jordan does not need to know about any of this . . . she doesn't need to know about the bombs. How the hell did they get our home addresses?"

"We could call in the FBI," Eddie offered.

"That would take too much time . . . besides that would send up some huge red flags. Jacobson and Abrams would notice that," Max replied.

"Winslow, Jacobson is out . . . he made bail," Julie, the ADA, said as she poked her head into my office . . . I could feel my heart sinking.

"How the hell did he come up with a million dollars," Eddie cursed as he got up to pace the room.

"The money came from Arthur Davidson . . . he said he was a friend of Jacobson . . . college roommates," Julie said as she came into the office, "It was a little too rehearsed for me."

"Call Nigel . . . have him trace the name," I said . . . my heart was pounding and my hands were sweating . . . I could barely sit still in my chair . . . Jacobson said that Jordan should sleep with her doors locked . . . it sent shivers down my spine . . . he was out within three hours of being charged with six counts of murder, one count of extortion, and one count of attempted murder.

"Woody, I have more good news . . . Dr. Macy called me," Julie said sighing, "Dr. Cavanaugh has been receiving death threats . . . two so far . . . I sent your boys to the telephone company to trace the calls."

"Jesus," Eddie swore as he continued to pace the room, "Woody, you're from Wisconsin, right?"

"Now isn't the time for small talk," I snapped.

"Are you from a small enough town that people would notice someone strange lurking around?" Eddie asked.

"I'm from a town of three hundred . . . I guess they'd notice a new face in town . . . there aren't really any hotels nearby . . . no rental car agencies . . . anything really fancy would stick out," I rambled finally catching hold of what Eddie was thinking.

"Jordan would stick out in Wisconsin . . . she sticks out in Boston," Max said.

"Not if I told my mom I was bringing home my girlfriend . . . she would tell the ladies in her knitting circle . . . everyone would expect to see her," I rationalized.

"Jordan isn't going to be happy with you," Max said.

"I'd rather deal with a pissed off Jordan than a dead Jordan," I replied.

"I'm calling to get a private plane for you . . . is there a private landing strip in . . . ," Eddie trailed off as he dialed air patrol.

"Kewaunee . . . I'll call my parent's neighbors to see if we can land in their pasture," I offered.

Day 21: En route to Logan Airport (2 am)

Dad helped me walk out to a black SUV . . . tinted windows . . . the whole bit. I heard Woody say something about bulletproof to Eddie. Woody lagged behind carrying my suitcases . . . he was talking to Eddie about security. I wondered what the hell was going on.

Dad helped me into the back of the SUV. He told me that everything would clear up soon . . . all my friends and most of the Boston PD were working hard to figure out who was responsible for this whole mess. Dad told me to be good . . . he would follow us to the airport. I kissed his cheek . . . I asked him if this was a dream. All he could say was that it would all be over soon . . . Woody would take good care of me.

"Jordan, are you ready?" Woody asked as he climbed into the driver's seat and started the ignition.

"Let's go . . . I just want to get out of Boston," I said. I could barely believe that I had said that . . . for so many years I longed for Boston. I longed for routine . . . for my tiny circle of friends that had become my family. Now, I wanted to transport all that routine to a place where I was safer . . . where I could leave my father's home without an armed guard. I wanted to go back to how I used to be . . . I didn't want to be so scared . . . I had never been scared before.

"Jordan, this is only for a week . . . think of it as a week long vacation," Woody reassured me.

"Some vacation . . . I'm in a bulletproof SUV with two unmarked cars following us to a tiny airfield . . . where we have a private plane waiting to take us God knows where," I said cynically . . . swallowing hard to get the words out.

"I brought you some cold case files to work on," Woody said . . . it was charming how he tried so hard to make me happy. He tried so hard to make me forget that tonight we were supposed to be celebrating his arrest at some restaurant . . . celebrating my freedom.

"Thanks. Could you tell me where you are taking me?" I demanded . . . trying not to be short with him, but I could barely control how angry I was inside.

"You are going to hate it," Woody replied.

"It's July . . . please tell me were are not headed to the North Pole or the Equator," I said . . . trying my hardest to be the cynical, hard Jordan of yesterday.

"Well . . . it's in the middle. Please promise if I tell you . . . . promise you won't get mad at me," Woody said as he concentrated on driving quickly through the streets of Boston . . . trying to maintain radio contact with Eddie who was driving Dad.

"I'm not going to be mad," I said . . . knowing that it was a half truth.

"Wisconsin . . . we are going to stay with my parents for a week," Woody said quickly.

"Wisconsin . . . your parents. Woody, how did you know that was my dream vacation," I said . . . trying hard not to sound mad . . . part of me was excited to find out where Woody came from . . . what had made him such a good man.

"I kind of told my parents that I was bring home my fiancée to meet the family," Woody said . . . even faster . . . so fast that I almost didn't hear it.

"Well, that's a little presumptuous," I said . . . when I was with him, I could feel myself easing back into my own skin.

"Jordan, there is only one spare bedroom and my mom would never let me sleep on the couch . . . I'd have to sleep in the barn," Woody said.

"Why can't you sleep on the couch? I could sleep on the couch," I replied.

"My mom doesn't want the couch to get dirty . . . Jordan, I'll sleep on the floor," Woody explained . . . I laughed at how worked up he was getting, "Jordan, stop laughing . . . don't you dare make me have to sleep out in the barn."

"How big the guest bed?"

"Full size."

"It should be interesting," I replied . . . I felt like I had turned back the clock twenty days. It was almost hard to remember that my trip to Wisconsin was an emergency relocation . . . that someone wanted me dead.


	7. Chapter 7

Day 21: Kewaunee, Wisconsin (10 am) – Woody's POV

I watch her sleep in the backseat of the squad driving us to my parent's house – in sleep, she looks so much more innocent than she is. During the plane ride, I wrapped her in my suit jacket . . . I never asked if she was cold. She asked me if my mother would like her. I asked her if it mattered . . . she said that it did.

I spent the last half of our flight in radio contact with the Kewaunee sheriff . . . my parents' next door neighbor. All my parents' mail would be flown to Milwaukee for more in depth screening for the next few weeks . . . I didn't want my parents to know why I was taking my impromptu visit home. Russell agreed to step up patrols of the country roads surrounding my parent's farm . . . I told him that I would be armed . . . I wasn't going to let anything happen to Jordan or my family.

Her chest rose softly . . . she was making up for all the hours of lost sleep. She barely slept anymore . . . Jordan was in a constant state of half-awareness. Her chestnut hair blocked the sun from her eyes. She was still wearing my suit jacket.

Our driver was no more than twenty years old . . . I didn't remember him . . . he must be straight out of the technical college police training program . . . probably had to go to Appleton or Fond du Lac to get that degree. At age twenty, he was probably supporting a wife and a child . . . Kewaunee was so much different than Boston . . . things were simpler . . . times were slower . . . you worked the fields during the day . . . watched the sunset on the porch. I wasn't sure if I missed those days.

Just a few years ago, I worked the night shift . . . primarily desk work and a few patrols . . . my mom needed me to help with the cows in the morning. Dad worked a second job in the paper mill to pay for my older sister's wedding . . . I was needed at home. I dated the same girl that I dated during high school . . . Amy Lynn Patterson. My mom called a few weeks ago to say that Amy Lynn had married my friend, Joseph Riley – she was pregnant and he had a good job in the paper mill. I wasn't jealous.

My mom asked about girls – she wanted to know what Boston girls were like. I didn't know what to tell her – Boston girls were so many different things. They were smart, tough, and independent – but on the inside each was as fragile as a butterfly wing. Mom asked me when I was going to get married . . . I always told her I wasn't sure . . . I liked the Boston girls . . . they make you wait.

"Here you are Detective Hoyt," the officer said as he pulled into my parents' driveway . . . Mom hurried over to the passenger side where I was sitting.

"Thank you . . . you can really call me Woody," I said as I got out of the car, "Hi, Mom."

She flew into my arms . . . she was crying. She was crying so hard that I could barely understand what she was saying . . . it was the first time she saw me in two years. I missed her on Christmas . . . I couldn't afford to fly home . . . so I sat in my apartment and ate a TV dinner . . . called home . . . I told them I needed to work . . . saving lives in Boston. I was too embarrassed to tell anyone.

"Where's this girl?" my mom asked as she wiped the tears from her eyes . . . she was ecstatic to meet Jordan.

"She's still a little tired from the late flight . . . If you don't mind, I'd like to let her sleep as long as possible," I whispered as I opened up the back of the squad . . . I gently lifted Jordan out of the backseat . . . my mom ran ahead to open the door for me . . . Jordan whispered something about how good I was as I carried her inside the house.

My mom watched as I lay Jordan across the guest bed . . . the young officer carried our luggage in. I thanked him . . . gave him a small tip. He looked at me funny . . . said he didn't need the money . . . I asked him to go out and buy his girlfriend something nice. My mom laughed . . . said that I was quite the man . . . I was so Boston . . . whatever that meant. My mom gave me blanket to cover Jordan with . . . I couldn't take my eyes off Jordan . . . she looked so beautiful. I adjusted the scarf on her neck to conceal the rest of the large yellow bruises. I followed my mom into the kitchen.

"She's beautiful, Woodrow. Tell me about her," My mom asked as she busied herself in the kitchen . . . she was making homemade hot chocolate on an eighty degree day . . . she knew it was my favorite.

"Jordan . . . Jordan is great. She's a medical examiner in Boston . . . she's a doctor. You'll really like her," I said as I stood up to help my mom . . . she shooed me away.

"A doctor. Woodrow, how did you meet her?" My mom probed . . . smiling at the thought of her 'daughter-in-law' being a doctor.

"In the morgue . . . she helped me solve a couple cases. Mom, she's really smart. Her dad is a cop . . . he's helped me with a bunch of cases," I rambled.

"Sounds like you have made quite the niche in Boston. I'm so glad that you are happy . . . it means the world to me, Woodrow," my mom gushed as she handed me the steaming mug, "I'm glad that you found the life you always wanted. I knew you would do good . . . you were such a smart boy."

"How's Abigail and her husband?" I asked . . . I missed my sister . . . my brother on the other hand . . . we didn't talk about him often.

"She's pregnant . . . going to have a girl this time. Richard is still working as a mechanic . . . he was certified to work on tractors a few months ago," my mom said, "Dad is out in the fields . . . one of the bulls broke through the electric fence. Dad is worried that we won't be able to sell him for beef."

"I'm sure everything is going to work out alright," I replied.

Day 21: Boston – Trace Evidence (Garrett's POV)

"Dr. Macy, I don't know why you would doubt me," Bug said as he pulled the brown wrapping paper out of the fume chamber . . . he had used super glue to flush out any prints on the paper surrounding the boxes . . . this was the box shipped to Woody's apartment. I held my breath . . . the other three were clean . . . only the prints of the mail carrier . . . some latex smudges from the post office shipping plant. Nigel was busy comparing the tape used to secure the paper . . . I wanted them all the match . . . it meant one bomber . . . I would prefer it was Jacobson.

"I've got a thumb print . . . it's a little rough, but let's scan it in," Bug said . . . he cut the print out and loaded it into the scanner, "It doesn't match."

"It doesn't match what?" I asked pacing the room . . . inwardly I was growing more and more frustrated . . . outside I was impatient.

"It's not the mail carrier . . . this one doesn't belong," Bug said, "I'm going to run it against the nation databases."

"Dr. Macy, I ran a search on Arthur Davidson," Peter said as he walked in Trace . . . it caused me to jump.

"I gave that to Nigel," I replied . . . I wasn't even sure what the comment meant.

"Nigel showed me how to do a search . . . he wants to keep working on the tape," Peter quickly explained, "Davidson is a thirty-five year old male . . . he's a politician . . . alderman for district eight."

"That doesn't help," I interrupted.

"No, here's where it gets good," Peter said, "Fingerprints are in the national database . . . he was arrested for a DUI . . . charges were dropped per request of our great mayor, Donald Wesley . . . who had Jacobson as his personal assistant. Davidson currently is the assistant campaign manager and speech writer for no other than Senator Ellington. I already called the courthouse to get the bail papers that Davidson signed . . . that way we know it was him."

"Good work, Peter," I said feeling overjoyed for the first time in days . . . this was all finally starting to come together . . . things were finally starting to tie together . . . Abrams and Ellington.

"You want some good news, Boss Man," Nigel said as he handed me a stack of papers, "All the tape matches . . . all the bombs were made at the same time . . . I can splice the pieces of tape together . . . there's only one bomb-maker. I called Eddie already."

"I can one up you there. My thumbprint is no other than Arthur Davidson," Bug said challenging Nigel . . . they both wanted Jordan home. It devastated Nigel to watch Jordan leave . . . they had become so close. I knew that I felt my heartbreak as I watched her leave . . . it was a hurt like no other.

"Okay, Nigel, Bug, let's go to the conference room . . . it's time to play Jordan's game," I said as I walked out of Trace . . . Nigel and Bug following. I knew this game scared Bug . . . he hated to role play with Jordan . . . I could see his hand tremble out of the corner of my eye. I could feel my hands trembling . . . this damn game gave me the most heinous nightmares.

Day 21: Hoyt Home (5 pm) (Jordan's POV)

"Jordan, you need to get up and eat something," Woody coaxed as he tried to gently wake me . . . I felt disoriented . . . I felt tired, but I felt safe with Woody there.

"How long have I been sleeping?" I asked . . . trying to sit up . . . I still had Woody's suit jacket on . . . it smelt of his cologne . . . very earthy.

"Since four this morning," Woody said as he helped me out of his suit jacket, "It's already dinner time . . . I set some of your stuff out in the bathroom. In case you wanted to clean up for dinner."

"Sure . . . thanks," I said as I stood up . . . there was a small bathroom attached to the guestroom . . . I turned on the cold water in the sink . . . washed my face . . . I had hoped that the cold water would wake me up.

"You need any help?" Woody asked . . . I turned to see him in the doorway . . . I saw him in jeans only one other time . . . when he was suspended . . . that rich girl . . . the constriction fetishist.

"Am I over dressed?" I asked cautiously . . . I was wearing black suit pants and a white fitted cotton shirt . . . this morning, it was something that I decided I wouldn't mind dying in . . . I wanted to look nice when I met my mother.

"No, you look fine," Woody replied . . . as I dried my face, "Are you ready?"

"Let's go," I said trying my hardest to smile . . . adjusting my scarf . . . Woody told me that I could take it off . . . I was afraid to see the bruising . . . it reminded me of Elizabeth, Candice . . . and all the others. Woody put his arm around me . . . told me just to be myself . . . that I would like his parents . . . he asked me to relax . . . told me that I was safe here.

"How was your nap, sweetie," Woody's mom said as she hugged me . . . taking me off guard.

"Good . . . I guess the plane ride tired me out," I said lamely.

"Jordan, go sit down . . . we are almost ready to eat. Paul is going to be in from the barn in a few minutes," Woody's mom said as she ushered Woody into the kitchen.

"Are you sure that I can't help?" I asked . . . I just wanted to be by Woody . . . it felt safer there.

"Woodrow is just finishing up supper. He tells me that you are a doctor. What an exciting job," she gushed.

"I like my job . . . very rewarding," I replied unsure of what to say.

"He says you work as a doctor that solves crimes . . . it's so nice that you and Woodrow will always be able to work together. Is he treating you good?" she rambled.

"He takes excellent care of me . . . you raised a wonderful son," I replied smiling.

"Oh, I'm so proud of my Woodrow. He worked so hard at school to be a cop . . . most kids here go to the technical college, but Woodrow worked his way through Lakeland College . . . for four years," she rambled.

"He's a great cop . . . he's really good at his job," I replied . . . it felt like I was parroting back what she was saying to me.

"Susan, dinner smells good. I just need to wash up quick," a man called out at he walked through the back door.

"Paul, clean up good Jordan and Woodrow are already here," Susan called out . . . I was relieved to finally know her name.

"Jordan, pleased to meet you . . . I'm Paul," he said as he nodded his head . . . headed towards the powder room to clean up for supper. He looked a lot like Woody . . . only so much older. He was tall . . . he still had thick, dark brown hair . . . he had the same carefree smile . . . he looked so warm . . . the same way Woody was warm.

"Mom, don't interrogate Jordan," Woody lectured.

"I'm not interrogating . . . I'm just making sure that you are behaving yourself in Boston," Susan said laughing . . . it was the same infectious laugh that Woody had.

"Mom, I work so much that it is hard for me to get in trouble," Woody commented as he began to set the table . . . I took the silverware from him . . . I began to help him set the table . . . Susan laughed as I straightened the plates out.

"Jordan, I haven't seen the ring that Woodrow gave you," Susan said matter-of-factly.

"We are having it resized . . . it's beautiful," I quickly responded.

"Woodrow, you better have spent 3 months of your salary," Susan lectured with a smile.

"Mom, Jordan isn't supposed to know how much I spent on her ring," Woody replied his eyes averting mine . . . he was embarrassed . . . turning twenty different shades of crimson. It was easy to pretend that I was fiancée . . . it felt comfortable . . . everything about him was so familiar . . . the kiss in the desert . . . the way his cologne smelled.

"Have you two set a date?" Susan asked.

"Not yet, Mom, but you will be the first person that I tell," Woody replied as he disappeared back into the kitchen.

"I've never been to Boston . . . could I come early to stay with you? I've always wanted to go see the ocean," Susan replied excitedly . . . I felt my heart-breaking for the poor woman . . . I could see the disappointment in Woody's eyes.

"You should come out to Boston soon . . . it's most beautiful in the fall," I said smiling.


	8. Chapter 8

Day 21: Morgue (Garrett's Point of View)

"Nigel, who do you want to be?" I asked as I poured myself a cup of coffee . . . I really wanted a glass of gin . . . something to calm my nerves.

"I'll be Davidson . . . Bug, are you in?" Nigel asked carefully as he took a seat at the large round table.

"I'll be Jacobson . . . Dr. Macy?" Bug said as he drummed his fingers on the table . . . he looked nervous.

"I'll pinch hit tonight . . . Abrams and Ellington," I replied as I swirled the coffee in the Styrofoam cup . . . splashing some on the oak table.

"I did you a favor years ago . . . so I asked you to do a favor for me," Bug said to Nigel . . . referring to the time Jacobson got the DUI charges against Davidson.

"What was your cut? You wouldn't do this for free," I said to Nigel.

"Simplest scenario . . . I needed to repay my debt. The conspiracy theory . . . I was going to split the money with you," Nigel said.

"That can't be . . . you didn't want to share my money with Candice . . . why would you share it with Davidson?" I asked puzzled . . . Bug's fingers rhythmically drummed on the table . . . Nigel smiled . . . he loved the conspiracy theory.

"This is stupid . . . why can't we just go over the forensics again?" Bug said . . . I felt the same way . . . this didn't make sense.

"What about the old saying that 'any publicity is good publicity?'" Nigel said, "Ellington's notoriety had gone down the toilet . . . Ellington was worried about his daughter surfacing . . . she's called you asking for money . . . she's sick of living on the street . . . she likes the lifestyle, but she wants to still live the good life."

Nigel stood up . . . momentarily pacing the room. The conspiracy theory . . . Nigel was proud of his baby . . . proud that this might just be the feasible answer. His eyes lit up as he delved further into his imagination.

"Davidson suggests offing her . . . Ellington said that there is no glory in legislation to protect the rights of one victim . . . a serial killer would be best. Ellington would exploit his daughter's death . . . campaign for safety . . . more police . . . the battle cry of a terrified public," Nigel rambled, "He promised to cover it up . . . Davidson enlisted Jacobson . . . we were both in it for the money . . . sleaze."

"Nigel . . . how do you think about that stuff?" Bug said visibly cringing, "Why did you try to kill Jordan and Woody?"

"They were threatening to expose the whole plot," Nigel said smiling.

"It's possible. It's very possible . . . I'm calling Eddie. Nigel . . . Bug, go home . . . tomorrow . . . tomorrow we need to comb every piece of evidence, every credit card transaction . . . we need to get Jordan home," I said as I left the conference room . . . my adrenaline surging.

Day 22: Hoyt Residence

"Jordan, are you cold?" Woody asked as we sat on the porch . . . watching the stars. It was so simple, but I could have stared forever . . . it was like all the stars from Boston were transported to Wisconsin . . . all the stars that I had never seen before.

"No, I want to stay out here longer," I said . . . transfixed . . . I had never seen this many stars before. I rocked in the rocking chair . . . Woody sat on the steps.

Today, Woody had taken me out to the barn to see the horses . . . after much negotiation, he taught me how to ride a horse. He was terrified that I was going to fall and break my neck . . . I begged him . . . he relented. Paul watched as Woody helped me on to the oldest, sickest looking mare . . . Paul said that was probably the safest way to go. Woody used an exercise rope to guide the horse . . . it felt good to feel free again.

I watched Paul milk the cows . . . he made Woody help. I asked if I could help . . . they both said no . . . Woody said that I wouldn't like it . . . Paul said it isn't the cleanest or most desirable job. Paul said he liked me . . . I was a smart girl . . . said that he said that I seemed like trouble. Woody replied that I should have been named trouble.

Woody took me into town for supper . . . a small Italian place . . . it didn't seem like it belonged in Kewaunee. Everyone knew Woody . . . they all asked about me . . . asked about wedding dates . . . told me that I would make a beautiful bride. Woody took such good care of me . . . he was uncomfortable with the whole situation . . . he had a harder time pretending.

"Jordan, my mom really likes you," Woody said . . . staring off into the woods.

"Woody, we should bring her out to Boston sometime soon," I replied.

"Jordan, there is no we," Woody said as he stood up . . . started walking away from the porch . . . I stood up and followed, "Jordan, I'm glad this is so easy for you, but I'll be the one to tell her that I'm not getting married . . . that this was all a hoax."

"Woody, she'll understand," I whispered as I ran to catch up to his long stride.

"Jordan, I don't think she will understand . . . she's already excited about planning the wedding . . . she went to the store today to buy bridal magazines . . . she spent all her money on that," Woody said raising his voice . . . out of all the times that he has yelled at me . . . this is the first time that he sounded serious.

"Woody, I'm sorry . . . please stop," I said as I grabbed his arm . . . his blue eyes gleamed in the moonlight.

"Jordan, we are leaving tomorrow . . . we need to leave . . . I've talked to Eddie . . . we need to leave," Woody rambled . . . he tried to pull his arm away from me . . . I wouldn't let go.

I pulled him close to me . . . I ran my fingers down his jaw line. He finally looked me in the eyes . . . I don't know what I said . . . I knew what I wanted to say. I wanted to say that I was really sorry . . . that his mother was amazing . . . that his father was amazing. I kissed him . . . his lips moved softly against my lips. I put my arms around his neck to ensure that he wouldn't pull away . . . I wasn't too worried about that . . . I was the one that always pulled away. He ran his hands through my hair . . . for as much as I wanted this, I was terrified.

"Jordan, while we were in the Mojave, you said this would never work . . . that we could never be together," Woody said.

"I say a lot when I'm scared," I replied.

"It's the only time that you have ever effectively communicated with me," Woody replied, "It's not fair . . . the way that you let me in . . . then push me away. Jordan, you can hurt me . . . just don't hurt my family."

"Woody, I don't want to hurt you," I replied.

"Jordan, why can't you let me in?" Woody asked.

"Woody . . . everyone I've let in . . . they hurt me," I rambled.

"Jordan . . . I'd never hurt you," Woody said . . . I could hear the disappointment in his voice . . . I was sure that even in the dim moonlight . . . that he could see the tears running down my face . . . I knew that he would never hurt me.

"Jordan, don't cry . . . I'm sorry for yelling. Let's go back to the house . . . I'll sleep in the barn tonight," Woody said as he stood up . . . walked past me.

"Woody, no . . . Woody," I said as I stood still . . . let him walk past me . . . so many things ran past me . . . or I pushed them past me.

I began to cry . . . I hated crying . . . the tears were acidic on my face . . . burned my skin. I wrapped my arms around my chest . . . I choked on the sobs . . . maybe I did really want this all to be real . . . I wanted to forget about the river rapist . . . leopard and lace . . . Candy Cane . . . everything . . . I just wanted to be in Kewaunee. I could feel his eyes on my back . . . I didn't want him to see me cry.

"Jordan, come on," Woody said as he walked back to me . . . visibly he looked less mad at me.

"No," I said still crying.

"Jordan, please . . . let's go in," Woody whispered, "You know that I'm sorry, right?"

"I don't want it to be like this . . . I'm just afraid . . . I want to try," I cried.

"Jordan, don't say things you don't mean," Woody said defensively.

I kissed him again . . . this time not letting him push away from me. I desperately held on to him . . . afraid to open up, but even more afraid to let him go.

Day 23: Hoyt Residence (8 am)

I woke up with a headache . . . so bad that I could barely move. Woody's arm was around my waist . . . he was still sleeping. I eased his arm off me . . . headed to the bathroom to find some Tylenol . . . anything to stop the pounding.

I hadn't intended for last night to happen . . . I hated fighting with Woody. I wasn't sure what he was thinking . . . he was silent as we walked back to the house. By the time I was done changing in the bathroom, Woody was already in bed . . . he wouldn't say anything. I knew that I had given him a lot to think about . . . I wasn't sure what he would say.

I felt locked in . . . I needed some time to think about last night . . . think about our charade. I swallowed some of the Oxycontin I was prescribed . . . Woody must have packed that for me . . . I tried to avoid narcotics . . . in medical school, I watched a classmate become addicted to Oxycontin . . . it was so easy. I felt nauseated . . . I trudged back to bed. Woody was gone . . . it didn't surprise me.

I wrapped the blankets tightly around me . . . I closed my eyes . . . tried desperately to sleep.

"Jordan," Woody said as he knocked on the door.

"I'm not feeling good . . . I'm going to try to get a little more sleep," I said as I pulled the covers over my head.

"Can I come in?" Woody asked.

"Fine," I said . . . I closed my eyes tightly . . . I could hear the door open.

"Are you okay?" Woody asked, "I brought you some breakfast . . . I guess my parents decided to eat without us."

"Not hungry," I whispered . . . talking hurt.

"Are you going to be okay?" Woody asked again . . . I couldn't remember if I had answered.

"Just a headache," I whispered.

"Okay," Woody said . . . he began to massage my scalp, "Jordan, I'm really sorry about last night."

"Woody, you've apologized enough . . . when are we leaving?" I asked.

"Tomorrow morning . . . I want to spend one more day with my parents before we go," Woody replied.

"Where are we going?" I asked . . . I would try to make myself scarce . . . do a little reading on the porch.

"A cabin up north," Woody replied.

"You can go further north?" I asked . . . it was the middle of the summer and the nights here were still freezing . . . I wasn't sure where Kewaunee was in relation to the geography of Wisconsin.

"Yeah," Woody replied.

"When can we go home?" I asked, "I miss Dad, Garrett and Nigel . . . I want to go back to my normal life."

"I don't know yet . . . Eddie said that Garrett has a new theory that he's working on, but that doesn't put Jacobson back in jail. Walcot is threatening to drop the murder charges . . . even though DNA links Jacobson to four crime scenes," Woody said.

"Is he going to be tried for attempted murder?" I asked . . . I wanted to know about the progress of my case.

"Those charges still stand . . . Eddie said there are rumor of them being reduced to assault," Woody said softly.

"That bitch . . . I can't believe that she would do that," I replied as I sat up in bed . . . I could feel myself shaking . . . the thought of Jacobson roaming the streets sickened me . . . the thought of the DA reducing the charges infuriated me . . . I didn't feel like Jacobson was done with me . . . he could easily try to kill me again.

"It's going to be okay," Woody replied.

I began to cry again . . . I could feel my heart pounding my chest . . . I couldn't believe how this man was taking over my life. He made me flee from my home, my job, and my family . . . he made me look at everyone walking down the street differently . . . every anonymous face could be capable of hurting me. I hadn't felt this kind of fear since I saw her laying on the floor in a pool of bright red blood . . . I wondered if this was the legacy she left for me . . . victimization . . . first Digger . . . then Herman Redding.

"Garret is going to crack this wide open . . . Eddie is working round the clock . . . this is going to end soon," Woody said, "Did you want me to pack for you?"

I couldn't even talk . . . the tears choked me. I think I nodded . . . I remember burying my head in my hands. I heard the door close . . . I had managed to push Woody even further away from me. I was startled to feel his arms around me . . . my tears quickly saturating his shirt. He didn't say anything while he held me . . . this was the only place that I felt safe.

He held me until I fell asleep.

Hoyt Residence – Noon (Woody's POV)

"You and Jordan . . . had quite the fight last night," my mom commented as I helped her make lunch.

"You know what they say about the Irish," I replied praying that she did not hear the content of our argument.

"Is Jordan okay?" Mom asked referring to the fact that Jordan was not yet awake.

"She's fine . . . just upset. We didn't sleep well last night," I replied.

"You two should never go to bed angry," Mom commented, "Woodrow, be careful with Jordan . . . she's a good girl. The way she looks at you . . . she loves you a lot . . . love her back the same amount."

We ate lunch silently . . . I cleaned up the kitchen. Mom watched from the snack bar . . . I told her that Jordan and I needed to leave early. We were going fishing up north . . . then meeting some of my college roommates in Milwaukee. She looked so disappointed . . . she asked for one more day . . . I had been away so long. I told that we had all today . . . I wanted to take her out to a fancy supper tonight . . . just the two of us. Mom asked what Jordan would be doing . . . I said that she and Dad could watch the baseball game . . . Mom and I weren't fans. I knew I needed to call the sheriff to have patrols stepped up while I was gone.

"Woodrow, you have become such a fine man. You take such good care of this old woman," Mom said as she hugged me . . . tears running down her face. I felt guilty for lying to her, but I didn't want to put her life in danger . . . the truth might just do that.


	9. Chapter 9

Day 23: Morgue (Garrett's POV)

"Okay, let's go over what we are dealing with; then, I'll start dividing up the work load," I said as I stood at the head of the long oak table in the conference room, "We have seven deceased victims and one living victim. Five of the decedents were raped – no semen was found, but there was substantial bruising on the thighs. Two of the decedents were strangled without sexual assault. All DNA evidence points to Jacobson – the campaign manager of J. Abrams Richards."

I watched as my staff scurried to take notes on the case – we never held case conferences, but it was time to bring everyone up to speed. I wanted everyone to be on the same team . . . this team was largely against the recent decisions of Renee Walcot.

"We also have four bombs. The fingerprint evidence is pointing to Arthur Davidson – he's currently an assistant to Senator Ellington. Jacobson and Davidson are currently walking the streets . . . we need to build a rock solid case," I lectured as I began to pace in the front of the room.

My voice was not the same as it normally was . . . I could hear the slight hesitation . . . the inconsistent cadence. I hadn't heard from Jordan for days . . . no one had heard from Jordan. Eddie had only heard from Woody once . . . no one had any idea as to what was going on in Wisconsin. The airlines would not surrender records to me . . . I wasn't sure exactly where Jacobson and Davidson were . . . they could be in Wisconsin.

"All your work is extremely important, since we are taking every shred of information to the media. This has been kept quiet too long . . . we need to get the public to force Walcot to pursue this case," I said, "Nigel, you can update the group on your working theory."

I returned to my seat. Nigel looked haggard . . . he hadn't been sleeping. I caught him sleeping on the couch in Jordan's office the other afternoon. I wasn't sure if he had even gone home in the last few days . . . I know that I hadn't . . . I would go home during the lunch hour to shave and shower.

"Current theory . . . Ellington ordered all the murders. The press would be used to boost his campaign . . . he would be able to work on a whole new series of legislation. Jacobson and Davidson would split the money that Candice Ellington had 'extorted' from her father. Jacobson would be the murderer . . . Davidson would monitor the happenings in the police station. Neither expected to be caught. Our Jordan and Woodrow, we getting too close for comfort, so they were targeted with mail bombs," Nigel said . . . the glimmer that was in his eyes the other night was gone . . . the conspiracy theory was no longer his friend . . . it was probably the truth.

"Okay . . . your assignments. Nigel, go over the contents of the bombs. Find out how they were made, if they would be fatal, and where those materials might be purchased – when you are ready, I have some financial records that might help. Bug, I want you to make sure that this DNA evidence is front and center in this case. I want you to finish working up all the DNA from the crime scenes. I need print outs that could be used on a poster board and in a press packet. Lily, I want you to help Bug. Peter, you and I are going to be going over every single body. I want to be sure that we aren't missing anything. We will also be assembling pictures of the crime scenes for a press packet. I will also be going over the evidence collected from Jacobson's office. Everyone clear? Let's go," I said as I stood up and headed directly to the morgue . . . everything else would wait today.

The day was long . . . Peter and I combed through each of the seven bodies until I was personally satisfied that the bodies were clean. Nothing significant was obtained . . . I let Peter begin to assemble pictures of the strangle patterns on all of the victims – he assured me that he could get pictures at the exact same angle – the media never got these pictures . . . it would implicate that there was one person doing the strangling. I went to trace evidence to work on the blood spatter pattern saw in Jacobson's office . . . and the three hole punch he used to crack open Candice Ellington's skull.

"Dr. Macy, your press packet is all set . . . Lily is just finishing copying it . . . she already called the news stations and scheduled at 9 pm press conference in the conference room," Nigel said as he stood in the doorway.

"Any good news?" I asked . . . yawning.

"The bombs are rudimentary . . . the recipe is all over the internet. I managed to get a list of all the IP addresses to access at site called 'how to make bombs.' I figure that politicians aren't that creative . . . well, the website designer is more than willing to work with us . . . rather than the cops. I'm still waiting on that. The financial records are promising . . . Davidson used his credit card to make a purchase at the local hardware store . . . purchased most of the ingredients for the bomb," Nigel said . . . he leaned heavily against the door frame.

"Go home and sleep," I said . . . I tried to refocus on the spatter pattern . . . two hours until my press conference . . . only the third in my entire career.

"I want to be there . . . just in case . . . some how Jordan sees the press conference. I miss her . . . it just isn't the same here . . . and for once it isn't because she is running," Nigel said.

"As soon as we have some serious charges . . . and arrests . . . she'll be back. I could use some help if you don't mind," I said.

"You want to play the game . . . you know mock it out?" Nigel asked.

"Anymore of that game and I'll never sleep again," I stated . . . it was going to be a long night.

Day 23: Ladysmith, Wisconsin

He was mad because I hadn't said anything to him during the four hour car ride. I wasn't sure what to even say. He left his father and I to watch the baseball game last night while he went out with his mother . . . he had barely talked to me all afternoon. His father and I had a good time . . . he complained about the Brewers and I helped him polish off a six pack . . . much to the dismay of Woody.

This morning, I watched him say good-bye to his parents. His mother cried . . . his father told him that this year he should come home for the holidays. I was under the impression that he went home every year . . . that's at least what he told me. His mother made me promise that I would let her know as soon as we set a date . . . I needed to send pictures of the ring . . . more importantly, she wanted an engagement picture to put in the local paper. I told her that I would try . . . I could feel myself tear up when she hugged me.

The care ride was excruciating . . . Woody didn't want to talk. We sat silently in a tiny Ford Escort . . . it was the only undercover car that the Kewaunee police department had . . . there were only two thousand miles on it . . . and it was five years old. We would need to drop it off as soon as we were set to leave Wisconsin. I thanked Russell for all his time . . . I appreciated the ambience of Kewaunee. Russell looked genuinely pleased that I like his city.

The cabin was tiny . . . one bedroom . . . a tiny bathroom . . . the kitchen and living room merged together. I immediately dug out the book that I was reading . . . sat in a chair in the corner of the living room . . . next to the fire place. This was the Hoyt family hunting cabin . . . used only during deer season. Susan had adorned the walls with pictures of her children . . . Woody was such a sweet looking child.

Woody immediately retreated to the bedroom . . . said he was going to unpack. We had stopped at a grocery store on the way here . . . gotten the staples to last for up to a week. I paid for the groceries . . . Woody asked me not to. It was the least I could do.

I was exhausted . . . it was only two in the afternoon. I went into the bedroom . . . stripped down to my underwear . . . pulled on my pajama pants and a tank top. I crawled under the sheets . . . I could hear Woody moving around in the bathroom. I tried to tune it out.

"Jordan, are you hungry?" Woody said as he came into the bedroom.

"No, not really," I replied . . . I curled up in the bed. It would be impossible to sleep in this bed . . . I couldn't imagine finding a mattress that was more lumpy.

"You haven't eaten anything today," Woody replied growing sick of my defiance . . . he misinterpreted my exhaustion for sheer defiance . . . the car ride made me tired . . . the sound of a car engine was soothing . . . I had to struggle to stay awake.

"Woody, can we not do this right now? I'm really tired . . . I just want to get some sleep," I replied . . . my voice was soft . . . it sounded defeated . . . I hated fighting with him . . . I was too tired to fight . . . all I could think about last night was Walcot. I dreamed about Jacobson . . . his hands around my neck . . . blacking out . . . . I relived the whole event. I woke up startled . . . Woody didn't wake up . . . he managed to sleep through my nightmare.

"Jordan, what's this about?" he asked as he sat at the corner of the small full bed.

"I didn't sleep well last night," I replied.

"I know . . . I felt you moving around all night. You want to talk about it?" Woody asked . . . I could feel his hand on my ankle . . . it was warm.

"No."

"Jordan, talk to me? I'm sick of fighting . . . let's just go back to what we were in Boston . . . no expectations . . . no commitments," Woody rambled . . . I knew how much it hurt for him to say that for me . . . he probably spent the whole drive thinking about what to say.

"Woody, I don't want to go back to that . . . I want a commitment," I blurted out . . . I turned to face him . . . he was speechless. I sat up in bed . . . I couldn't think of what else to say, "The only times that I have felt safe in the last week is with you . . . that was the only time that I had slept all week. Not even Nigel or Dad could make me feel as safe as you have."

"Safety and commitment are two very different things," Woody said turning away from me.

"You don't understand what I'm saying . . . I feel comfortable enough around you to let you in . . . that rarely happens. Woody, I didn't spend the last three days pretending . . . I spent my time trying to imagine that it was real," I said . . . it was quite talking, but I wasn't yelling . . . it was somewhere in between.

I ran my fingers along his shoulders . . . nearly had to gasp for air . . . he wasn't saying anything and it was such a hard blow that it knocked all the air out of my lungs. I finally knew what I had put him through for nearly two years . . . I let him chase me without reciprocating . . . damn did it ever hurt.

"I spent the longest time trying to imagine what it would be like to be with you . . . marry you . . . buy a home . . . get a dog . . . start a family. I thought it would be perfect, but you did everything possible to fight it. What makes you so ready now?" Woody asked as he turned to me . . . he tried to hide the tears in his eyes . . . I was undoing all the walls that he put up . . . all the reasons he had to say no.

I wasn't sure who kissed whom . . . I held my breath the entire time. I was terrified that he would pull away the same way he had pulled away two days ago. His hands were warm against my skin . . . I was shaking . . . he ran his hands along my profile . . . resting his hands on my waist. This kiss was much less fearful than the previous ones . . . this one was almost hungry.

I tried to relax, but this was different than anyone else . . . I didn't care about anyone else . . . except for Tom Sullivan . . . everything about what she did with him was wrong. For once, this wasn't wrong . . . it wasn't a misguided affair with an FBI agent or ADA. I just needed to override my urge to run.

I let him lower me to the bed. We spent the afternoon getting to know each other's body. We feel asleep in a heap of tangled sheets . . . both naked . . . our bodies and feelings exposed.


	10. Chapter 10

Day 24: Morgue (Garrett's POV)

"What the hell do you think that you are doing?" Renee Walcot said as she slammed one of my press packets down on my desk, "Do I need to remind you that you work for me?"

"Renee, I work for the people. Right now, you are doing the public a huge disservice by allowing Jacobson and Davidson to walk the streets like any other free person," I commented . . . I tried to contain my anger.

"Your evidence is circumstantial at best," Renee yelled . . . she didn't bother to close the door to my office . . . she planned on making an example of me. I was more than ready for her.

"I have DNA linking Jacobson to the murder scenes . . . I have fingerprints and financial record linking Davidson to the bombs. How the hell is any of this circumstantial?" I yelled back . . . her face was growing red.

"You have to go through me," Renee hissed . . . she placed her hands on my desk and leaned over it . . . she looked like a serpent.

"Are you going to re-file all the charges that you dropped?" I hissed right back at her.

"You don't understand anything about this case . . . about money flow and job security," Renee whispered, "I suggest you hop right on board and shut your damn mouth . . . otherwise, don't be surprised if you are asked to resign from your position . . . probably forcibly."

"I hope you don't mind that I recorded our conversation . . . my next press conference is in three hours," I said coolly . . . making sure that she knew that I wasn't kidding.

"Dr. Macy . . . don't pursue this. These men are dangerous . . . Jacobson and Davidson are only the tip of the iceberg," Renee said.

"Bring it on," I challenged her, "I have a call in to Governor O'Leary . . . he's calling me back this afternoon . . . apparently he's very interested in finding out why no arrests have been made."

"Garrett, don't be stupid . . . he's a lame duck governor. You better try to make amends with Richards . . . in four months, he's going to be your boss," Renee replied.

"Not if I have anything to say about it . . . I'm going to use names tonight. I'm sure the public would like to know where Jacobson and Davidson work," I threatened.

"Be wise, Garrett," Renee said as she walked out of my office . . . I couldn't believe that she was playing into the game that Ellington had devised . . . I knew she was cold and unfeeling, but corrupt too.

I had hoped that Jordan was having a better time than I was.

Day 26: Governor's Office (Garrett's POV)

I walked down the long marble hallway . . . it was intimidating. I had never been in the capital building . . . let alone on business so serious. Nigel, Bug, and Peter were in tow . . . we probably looked like a mob of gangsters . . . all in black suits with black suitcases . . . Nigel even went in and got his hair cut and his roots dyed.

We all met for coffee this morning . . . talked about how to present our case and our suspects. Nigel had made a PowerPoint presentation . . . he had complied all the press packets and all the photographs he could get his hands on. Each member of my team had an area of specialization that they would be talking about. I had gone home last night and practiced explaining the information about the evidence found in Jacobson's office . . . this was more stressful than going into the court room and testifying.

"Governor O'Leary will be with you in one moment. Please feel free to begin setting up your equipment," his secretary said as she led us into a large conference room.

"Okay, let's get ready. Everyone . . . just take a deep breath. We have a solid case . . . we have all the forensics to put the puzzle together. Remember that," I said as I prepared my notes . . . Nigel and Bug were busy setting up the computers for the PowerPoint and one for the re-enactment software . . . it was useful in explaining the blood spatter found in Jacobson's office.

"Dr. Macy, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm sorry it's under these circumstances. I've asked DA Walcot to sit this one out . . . I want to hear what you have to say un-interupted," the governor said as he stepped into the conference room . . . shook my hand . . . tried to look pleasant . . . I imagine he hadn't been getting much sleep . . . five press conferences in three days . . . probably gave him a lot of information to digest.

"I understand," I replied.

"I've invited a few members of the State of Massachusetts Supreme Court . . . they are going to help me determine if you have credible forensics. Just judging from the media . . . I think you are right on," he said as he took a seat at the head of a long mahogany table, "We can start whenever you are ready."

We talked for hours . . . blood spatter, DNA, fibers, bombs, financial records . . . Governor O'Leary requested two breaks . . . one due to the graphic photographs that Peter was using to explain the consistency of the method of strangling . . . another to get some air . . . all O'Leary said was 'heavy stuff.' Damn right . . . this was some heavy stuff.

We presented our case for seven hours . . . Bug was up there for the longest duration of time. He explained every nuance of DNA . . . he talked about probabilities . . . he talked about the transfer of DNA during an altercation. He told O'Leary that Jacobson's DNA was found at all the crime scenes . . . primarily in fingernail scrapings . . . these girls fought until asphyxiation prevented them from fighting anymore. I had never been so proud of Bug.

Nigel talked about the bombs . . . how to make them . . . and where Davidson purchased the items. He surprised everyone by playing the surveillance tape from the hardware store . . . you could see most of the items clearly . . . all bomb making materials. O'Leary just nodded his head as the judges scrambled to take notes on everything that we had presented.

Everyone was consistent and unyielding . . . I couldn't believe how they pulled together. I even let Nigel explain the theory that we were working from. O'Leary asked for a short recess . . . he needed to talk with the judges. They were only gone for five minutes . . . O'Leary thanked us . . . he had already issued arrest warrants for Jacobson and Davidson.

"I've never had to do this before . . . DA Walcot . . . she worked for my campaign for years. She was my legal advisor throughout my two terms in office . . . when I told her that I was going to retire from politics, I just never thought she would become the kind of politician I spent eight years trying to get out of our legislature," O'Leary lamented.

"People change . . . people get caught up in the ideals and power," I commented.

"Dr. Macy, thank you for taking the time to catch these guys . . . I sure as hell hope Ellington has nothing to do with this . . . to kill his own daughter . . . it seems un-human," O'Leary replied, "You and your team will be honored properly."

"Thank you, but catching Jacobson and Davidson is enough," I replied as I walked down the hallway to where Bug, Nigel and Peter were waiting for me, "In a couple days . . . In a couple days, we can bring her home."

Day 28: Ladysmith, Wisconsin

"Jordan, Garret is on the phone . . . he has something to tell you," Woody said smiling as he handed me his cell phone . . . I was shocked that it got reception up here . . . there was nothing within a fifteen minute vicinity.

"Garret, I miss you so much," I said.

"Jordan, you can come home in a couple days. The governor's office has filed charges against Jacobson and Davidson . . . they were arrested in a coffee shop yesterday," Garret said . . . the sound of his voice was so comforting . . . it felt like home.

"Together . . . I guess they aren't as shrewd as they thought they were," I replied stunned, "Does the attempted murder charge still stand?"

"Yes, it's been assigned a sentence of 100 years in prison without parole. Jordan, how have you been doing?" Garret asked sounding concerned . . . he was such a worry-wart.

"Good . . . you know Wisconsin . . . not much trouble to find," I replied.

"Are you being good for Woody?" Garret asked.

"I'm trying . . . Thank you . . . thank you for working so hard," I said into the cell phone . . . I began to choke up.

"Jordan, I just want you to come home . . . this place isn't the same without you," Garret replied.

"Call us when we can come home," I said.

"Okay, behave yourself . . . I'll see you in a few days," Garret said . . . I hung up the telephone . . . it felt like a million weights were being lifted off my shoulders . . . I could smile again without the thought of Jacobson lurking in the far corners of my mind.

"Are you ready to go home?" Woody asked cautiously . . . these last few days were a vacation from reality . . . all our time spent talking . . . making love . . . living in a relationship isolated from the real world.

"I don't know . . . I kind of like this," I replied.

"Just because we go back to Boston . . . doesn't mean things need to change," Woody replied . . . kissing my forehead . . . taking he book I was reading out of my hands setting it on a table next to the couch.

"I know . . . I just don't want to un-do this. You know old habits are hard to break," I reply casually . . . he obscured my words by kissing my lips as I was talking . . . he didn't want to hear it.

"If you ever want to run . . . do me one favor . . . call me first . . . if you still want to run after talking to me for five minutes, I'll let you go," Woody whispered.

"I don't know what I'm more afraid of . . . being with you or losing you," I replied honestly.

"Jordan, I cannot even explain to you how afraid I am that you will run . . . it's almost as scary as the nightmares I have about Dalton Park . . . about Jacobson," Woody replied . . . he ran his fingers through my hair . . . he kissed my eyelids.

"It's over now . . . Garret made sure that everything was taken care of," I replied . . . I let my hands linger on his chest as he pulled away from me.

"We should go out . . . celebrate," Woody suggested.

"Umm . . . I don't think Ladysmith is one of the hot spots in Wisconsin," I replied . . . laughing at how excited he was getting.

"How about if I cook for you?" Woody suggested . . . most of the food we ate was prepackaged and frozen.

"What's on the menu?" I asked . . . Woody sat next to me on the couch . . . there was this dime size spot on the back of his neck . . . I immediately nibbled on it . . . it rendered him helpless . . . often times he couldn't even speak when I would attack his neck. It was true again this time . . . we lost another day . . . our bodies entangled . . . ignoring the world around us . . . enjoy this refuge fully before we would be forced back into Boston . . . back into our old lives.


	11. Chapter 11

Day 32: Logan Airport

I nearly ran off the plane . . . I could see Dad, Garret and Nigel waiting near the hanger. The last few hours were agonizing – the tiny plane bounced in the wind currents. I spent most of the time clutching the armrest praying that we would make it home . . . I spent the rest of the time cursing Eddie for booking the cheapest charter flight possible. I didn't spend the last few weeks living in fear to die in a plane crash on the way back to comfort and routine.

"Jordan, are you okay? I've missed you so much . . . I don't know what to do without trouble in my life," Dad whispered in my ear . . . I began to cry.

"Dad," I whispered . . . that was all that I could get out of my mouth . . . Dad let me go . . . told me that I looked pretty good.

"Jordan, you little devil . . . I've missed you. It's just not the same in the morgue," Nigel said as he picked me up . . . twirled me around. I knew how much he missed me . . . he was one of my best-friends . . . being away from him was always painful.

"I'm glad your home," Garret whispered as he hugged me.

"Thank you . . . thank you for bringing me home," I whispered getting choked up on the words.

"It wasn't just me . . . you wouldn't believe how people pull together when their family needs help," Garret whispered . . . my 'family' it wasn't something that I had before . . . it felt good to know that I could put my life in the hands of my co-workers . . . they were so much more than co-workers.

"Jordan, you are staying at the house with me," Dad said as he took my luggage . . . smiling as Woody took my hand . . . we walked to the waiting SUV.

"Dad, this is over . . . I'm going to my apartment . . . I'm going to be free again," I said as I climbed into the SUV.

"Jordan, are you sure?" Dad asked before he closed the door to the SUV . . . I nodded my head.

The following days were uneventful . . . I went to work . . . watched the clock until it was time to go home. I spent the evenings waiting for Woody to get done with work . . . he made me that dinner he promised me. He was a good cook . . . probably got that from his mother.

He started spending a few nights a week at my place . . . my queen size bed was much more comfortable than the full sized beds that we had frequented. I let him have a drawer in my dresser . . . it was the biggest commitment that I had ever made. He kept a toothbrush in my bathroom . . . next to mine.

I spent the night at Woody's apartment less frequently . . . it was his refuge when his workload got too heavy . . . sometimes I would stop by with supper . . . normally Broccoli and Chicken from the corner Chinese restaurant or pizza . . . sausage, onions, and green peppers. We would have supper at his dining room table . . . I would fall asleep on the couch watching him work . . . sometimes I would offer to help him . . . occasionally he would let me. Normally, he would carry me to bed . . . I would wake up in the morning when his alarm would go off.

Dad said that he approved . . . Woody was a good kid . . . someone in the relationship needed to have a good head on their shoulders. I felt bad for not spending more time with Dad . . . Dad said it was okay, but made me promise to come by Pogue for a beer every Friday night . . . it was the least that I could do.

Woody called his Mom about a week and a half after we got home . . . he told her that we were going to take it slow. He needed more time . . . you know to get together a down payment for a house . . . that he wasn't where he needed to be financially. She said she understood . . . I had never seen Woody cry like that . . . it scared me. I told him that maybe someday . . . we would have a house . . . dog . . . maybe a family. I called Susan . . . asked if she was okay . . . she said she missed us . . . said that she understood . . . I told her that Woody was doing everything right . . . he wanted to be a provider . . . I didn't have any right to deny him that . . . he wanted to be like Paul. I think she understood . . . I told her that I loved her son . . . it was the first time that I had ever said that . . . I watched him sleep with his head in my lap . . . my finger tips gently making circles on his scalp. I promised that we would be in Wisconsin for Christmas . . . Woody deserved that . . . his mother deserved that.

Hearings were set for Jacobson and Davidson . . . they passed uneventfully. DA Walcot was asked to resign . . . she did so . . . Governor O'Leary charged her with obstruction of justice . . . she plead guilty. Garret watched her hearing and her sentencing . . . all he could remember was his brief affair . . . who she was when she wasn't in her element. Ellington and Richards issued statements to the media . . . denying any knowledge of the murders. Ellington resigned from his seat in the senate . . . extortion . . . they extorted money from him . . . I was never sure what he meant by they. Richards . . . his campaign was ruined beyond repair . . . it was going to be the year of the underdog . . . a year that would go down in the history of Boston . . . in the history of Massachusetts.

It felt good to settle back into life . . . I felt safer . . . I had changed . . . I was a little more fearful . . . I built my walls slower. Woody took full advantage of that . . . asking me about my childhood . . . asking about my mother. It was almost therapeutic . . . I began seeing Dr. Stiles on a weekly basis . . . Dr. Stiles was elated . . . he said it was about time I began to talk.

Day 60: Morgue

"Jordan, these are here for you," Emmy said as she set the long white box on my desk, "I didn't peak . . . could you open them faster?"

I smiled . . . this was something Woody would do . . . something totally out of the blue. I was floored that he thought to send me roses. I opened the box . . . my jaw dropped . . . I felt extremely ill. I think I screamed . . . the roses were black . . . soaked in what appeared to be blood. This wasn't over.

My telephone rang . . . I wanted it to be Woody . . . he would know what to do. I picked up the telephone . . . I could hear the heavy breathing . . . I could hear Emmy running down the hallway to get Garret.

"Cavanaugh," I said . . . my voice faltered . . . it was foreign to me.

"You should think about getting a deadbolt on your red door . . . it would be a shame if it were your blood that was spilled," the voice said . . . it was electronically altered.

"Who are you?" I whispered . . . barely audible . . . the line went dead.

"Jordan," Garret said as he ran into my office, "What the hell is this?"

Garret told Emmy to call Woody . . . asked her to get Lily to sit with me in the conference room. He would photograph the box . . . try to get some fingerprints. I couldn't speak . . . the words were all caught in my throat.

"The phone . . . someone called," I whispered . . . I was still in my office chair.

"Who called, Jordan?" Garret asked as he stood me up . . . ushered me into the conference room.

"I don't know . . . the voice was digitally scrambled . . . said that I should get a deadbolt on my door," I whispered . . . I instinctively reached for my throat . . . the bruises had healed, but the bruises lingered as raw emotion in a vulnerable area of my body . . . a reminder of all the girls that weren't as lucky as I was.

"Jordan, my God . . . Jordan," Garret said as he embraced me . . . held me close to him . . . I began to sob . . . it wasn't over . . . I had a sick feeling in my stomach.

"Jordan, what happened?" Woody said as he walked into the conference room . . . I stood up and ran to him . . . still crying . . . crying so hard that I couldn't speak. He whispered that it was all alright . . . he was here . . . he wouldn't let anything happen to me.

Woody asked Garret to call Max . . . I needed to go somewhere safe . . . somewhere where I would have an armed guard . . . full-time . . . I needed to relinquish my freedom again. I wouldn't let go of Woody . . . he had to peal me off of him . . . he handed me over to Lily and Nigel . . . while he went to check out my office.

I whispered to Lily that I was feeling sick . . . I spent what felt like hours vomiting in the restroom.

Woody's POV

Emmy filled me in on what she saw . . . a delivery man in khaki pants and a green polo shirt . . . non-descript. There was nothing that stood out about the man . . . she didn't need to sign for the delivery . . . he just disappeared. Bug was looking over the video from the security cameras.

Lily told me that Jordan wasn't doing well . . . she was in the restroom vomiting. I didn't know what to do to help her . . . I wasn't sure if it was better for me to be here working on the case or taking Jordan home. I was relieved to see Max . . . he sat with Jordan . . . until she was sleeping in Garret's office . . . it was best to leave her here for now.

"Emmy, she got the flowers then a telephone call minutes later?" I asked to clarify.

"The phone started ringing seconds after she opened the box . . . I went down the hallway to get Dr. Macy," Emmy stammered . . . she was nearly as shaken up as Jordan.

"Garret, what did the caller say?" I asked.

"That she needed to put a deadbolt on her apartment door," Garret replied . . . we just stared at the box of black roses saturated in pig blood . . . Nigel already took samples of the blood.

"Damn . . . I don't even know where to go with this," I replied.

"I'll get on the forensics," Garret said sounding defeated.

Day 60: Boston Police Department (Woody's POV) 10 pm

"Jordan, please try to get some sleep . . . Nigel is going to stay with you tonight. You are going to be perfectly fine," I said into the telephone . . . Max called me . . . said that Jordan would even think of going to bed unless she knew that I was okay . . . he said something was bothering her . . . she kept going on about this unsettled feeling she had.

"Please come by . . . I want you here with me," Jordan pleaded . . . I could hear her trying to stifle the crying . . . Max said that she had spent most of the afternoon crying.

"Jordan, I'm going to my apartment to catch a few hours of sleep . . . then I'm back here . . . I'm not going to let this afternoon go unanswered," I replied . . . I was angry . . . I thought that this was all behind us . . . we caught the bad guys, but this time it refused to go away.

"Woody, please . . . I don't want you to be alone," Jordan pleaded becoming hysterical again.

"Jordan, you stay with Nigel . . . I want you to call if you need anything . . . I'll have an armed guard circling the neighborhood . . . Eddie is personally going to do some of the patrols," I reassured Jordan . . . my head was killing me . . . I wouldn't be of any use to her tonight.

"Woody, please be careful . . . please promise me . . . please, Woody," Jordan pleaded . . . I could hear Max trying desperately to calm her down . . . it wasn't working.

"Jordan, I want you to go to sleep . . . I'm going to come see you first thing in the morning . . . I still have a few more hours of work to do," I said with a sigh, "Jordan, you know . . . you know that I love you . . . I'm going to make this go away no matter what I need to do. Tomorrow night, we'll be in your bed . . . not worrying about deadbolts and politicians."

"Woody, I love you too . . . please come stay with me . . . I only feel safe when you are with me," Jordan pleaded.

"Jordan . . . no . . . I've got to work. Go get some sleep . . . you'll see me at five in the morning . . . I promise I'll be careful," I said . . . she agreed . . . she handed over the telephone to Nigel . . . Nigel said that he would take good care of Jordan.

My head throbbed . . . phone records . . . financial records . . . they all made my head spin. The only thing that I was clear on is that at noon a large amount of money was withdrawn from Ellington's campaign account . . . I wasn't sure exactly where that money went . . . all I could think was a hitman. Jacobson and Davidson were in jail . . . I actually called to make sure.

Nigel and Bug poured over fingerprints . . . everything was too smudged. Garret poured over the surveillance film . . . there was nothing description about this person . . . he seemed to fit right in. Phone records . . . the call was too short to be traced . . . I asked the telephone company to try harder . . . they said that they had five seconds to work with . . . calls under ten seconds are extremely difficult to trace.

I glanced at the clock . . . I wasn't sure where the last four hours went . . . I might have dozed off . . . more likely I was so fixated on the case file that I didn't notice the passage of time. I gathered my things and headed out to my car . . . I felt vulnerable in the parking structure. I looked under my car . . . the K9 unit brought one of the dogs out . . . everyone knew if Jordan was a target . . . I was most likely next on the list.

I drove home in a trance-like state. My headache worsening . . . I locked my door. I was thankful that they lady that used to live in my apartment had installed extra locks . . . deadbolt, latch, and chain. I was on the eighth floor . . . I wasn't terribly concerned with someone climbing the fire escape . . . I was pretty sure that they weren't well maintained . . . not much in this apartment was well-maintained.

I crawled under the sheets . . . I could smell her on the sheets . . . jasmine . . . picked at night when the blooms upon . . . rare . . . exotic . . . sensual . . . just like her. I fell asleep easily . . . sleep soothed my aching head . . . too soon my alarm would wake me . . . I could see her . . . assure her that we were both going to be okay.

Day 61: Max's House (2 am)

I was startled by the sound of breaking glass . . . drawn out of my sleep. Nigel went to investigate . . . he had been dozing in bed next to me . . . I asked him to hold me. I called for him . . . I called out for Daddy . . . there had been few times in my life that I felt this scared.

I heard dishes break . . . pots and pans fall to the floor. I reached for my car keys . . . and ran down the back staircase . . . I ran to Nigel. I could see him laying on the floor not moving . . . I ran to him . . . he still had a pulse . . . he was still breathing . . . just knocked out.

I heard footsteps behind me . . . they were slightly louder than the pounding in my chest. I felt the knife collide with my arm . . . cutting my shirt . . . piercing my skin . . . I felt the warmth flow down my arm. I ran . . . I ran as fast as I could . . . ran outside . . . I was faster than this one . . . it wasn't like Jacobson . . . this one was so much slower.

My arm hurt . . . I began to run to Woody . . . I knew that it was too far for me to run . . . it was miles . . . I just needed to get to a well-lit, busy place . . . I could call 911 for Nigel and I could call Woody. My chest began to hurt . . . I hadn't been running since the first attack . . . it was one hell of a time to be de-conditioned. My bare feet thudded against the pavement . . . I ran towards the convenience store that was only a few blocks away. I cursed when I found that I was locked . . . he was still in hot pursuit . . . gaining on me . . . I was growing weary from the blood loss.

I needed to stop . . . I looked for anything that could be considered a weapon. Nothing . . . he had a knife . . . I had nothing. I began to scream for help . . . he just got closer. He began to talk to me . . . he didn't want to kill me, but it was what he was hired to do . . . he was hired to make a statement. I tried to fight . . .at least claw him in the face . . . I wanted the DNA evidence under my fingernails . . . I got it.

The knife tore through my jeans . . . cutting into my thigh . . . he said that I wouldn't be running anywhere. He dragged my body . . .still screaming behind the convenience store . . .he kicked me hard in the ribs . . . I could no longer talk. He asked if I had any last words . . . I couldn't speak even if I wanted to . . . I wanted to scream for Woody. I knew that I would die thinking of him. I saw the man lift something above his head . . . I could feel immense force on my skull . . . reopening the area that had recently healed . . . everything went black.

Day 61: Woody's Apartment (4:00 am)

The telephone roused me from my sleep . . . I hated to answer the telephone . . . I didn't even want to know what it was about. I felt nauseated . . . my mouth went dry . . . the first thing I thought about was Jordan.

"Detective Hoyt," I said into the receiver.

"You've got to get to Max's house," Eddie said nervously.

"What happened?" I asked as I bolted out of bed . . . trying to dress myself while still on the telephone.

"Someone broke in . . . Max found Nigel unconscious on the floor . . . Jordan is missing . . . there's blood all over the place. Woody, I don't feel good about this," Eddie said . . . I could feel the nausea rising in my throat . . . I said that I would be there in fifteen minutes.

I looked in the bathroom mirror . . . I looked like I had been through a battle zone. I tried to straighten my wild mass of tangled hair . . . I washed my face . . . every time I thought of her . . . I felt worse. I should have just went over there . . . I vomited in the sink . . . I couldn't even begin to picture the crime scene. If Eddie said it was bad . . . it had to be gruesome. I quickly brushed my teeth . . . the scent of vomit lingering in my throat.

I slipped on my shoes . . . gathered my cell phone, keys, and wallet . . . opened my apartment door. I wasn't prepared to see her on my doorstep . . . she wasn't moving. I shook her . . . I begged to her wake up . . . she was still breathing . . . barely . . . she was cool to the touch. I called 911 . . . begged them to come fast. I held her in my arms . . . apologized for not staying with her last night . . . told her that I loved her . . . reassured her that she would be okay.

The blood . . . I didn't even know where all the blood was coming from. Her gray t-shirt was primarily brown . . . some blood still trickled down her arm . . . I tried to put pressure on her arm . . . the blood seeped into my suit jacket . . . saturating my dress shirt . . . cooling my skin. I felt sick again.

I kissed her forehead . . . begged her to hang on. I could hear the sirens . . . I held her closer to me. It was only going to be a matter of minutes . . . she needed to hold on . . . I wasn't going to let her go.

I gratefully handed her over to the paramedics . . . I tried to help them . . . cutting her shirt . . . exposing her bare breasts to the world . . . I put pressure on the wound on her upper arms. I watched as they cut her sweatpants offs . . . there were more wounds on her thighs. I noticed her head . . . they broke open her previous wound . . . the one from Dalton Park. I asked to ride with the paramedics . . . they told me no . . . this was a critical case . . . they would need the room to work.

I was greeted by patrol officers . . . I called Eddie . . . told him I was going to the hospital . . . someone else had to be in charge of the crime scene at my apartment. He told me to go . . . to make sure that she was okay . . . to find out how Nigel was doing. I asked him to tell Max and Garret . . . he replied that they were working at the crime scene in the Cavanaugh House . . . he would tell them.

I raced to the hospital . . . waiting to see what damage had been done.


	12. Chapter 12

Beth Israel Deaconess Hospital – 5 am (Woody's POV)

I felt sick . . . one of the emergency room nurses had given me scrubs to change into . . . Jordan's blood had permeated my clothes . . . it was on my cheek . . . all over my arms and hands. I sit watching her in the ER trauma room . . . a perky nurse kept telling me that there would be an ICU bed for her soon.

I could barely remember the events of the last hour . . . I followed the ambulance closely . . . arriving only minutes after Jordan was brought into the trauma room. They let me wait by the door . . . I watched the doctors and nurses put in tubes and IVs. A machine was breathing for Jordan . . . another machine was preventing her lung from collapsing. She looked like a ghost of herself.

"I thought you could use this," Garret said as he handed me a cup of coffee . . . I wasn't concerned about anything besides Jordan . . . the rich, bitter scent was making me more nauseated than I already was.

"Garret . . . it's not good. She was beaten pretty badly," I said, "Where's Max?"

"He's having a hard time coming into the hospital . . . once you are here . . . it all seems real," Garret said as he stared at Jordan . . . crisp white linens accentuated the paleness of her skin.

"Did the doctors say anything?" Garret asked.

"I didn't understand much . . . right now we have to wait for someone to die for her to get an ICU bed . . . something about the census being really high," I replied bitterly.

"I'll go talk to the doctors . . . Eddie is in the lobby. He needs to question you," Garret said . . . he rested a hand on my shoulder before walking towards the nurses station.

I walked out into the lobby. I scanned the crowd for someone in a green polo shirt . . . brown hair . . . light complexion . . . I knew it wouldn't be that easy. Eddie sat in the corner . . . his head in his hands . . . Max sat next to him . . . he was breathing heavily . . . looked like he was in a trance.

"Max, you should go see her," I said as I sat next to him.

"Woody, how bad . . . how bad does my baby girl look?" Max asked . . . his hands trembled as he scanned the room.

"Bad, but she's still fighting. You should go see her . . . she needs her dad right now," I said . . . I helped Max to his feet . . . this was the first time I saw him as a feeble, old man . . . he looked lost . . . a nurse came over to help him to his daughter.

"You know . . . Woody, I have to ask you some questions," Eddie said, "The scene this morning . . . it wasn't well preserved . . . I just need to know . . . I need to know what happened."

"I opened the door . . . there she was. Crumpled in a ball . . . she was cold to the touch . . . she was barely breathing . . . her pulse was weak. I called 911 . . . waited with her for the paramedics," I said . . . staring at the tile.

"The doctor called the precinct . . . when did you and Jordan . . . last have intercourse?" Eddie asked . . . looking at the ground . . . he couldn't look at me . . . I couldn't look at him.

"Two . . . three days ago . . . I don't know. She wasn't, was she?" I asked . . . the words getting caught in my throat on the way out . . . the words were competing with the nausea.

"Yeah . . . the doctor thinks that she was," Eddie said pausing to clear his throat, "The doctor thinks that she was sexually assaulted."

I could feel my heart stop . . . I could feel my knees weaken . . . had I been standing upright, I would be laying on the ground now. As if being beaten wasn't enough . . . he had to rape her too.

"Did you want to call someone to take you home?" Eddie offered me his cell phone.

"No, I want to stay . . . I'll need some time off from work," I replied . . . dazed to the surroundings.

"Just let me know when you are ready to come back. Hoyt, call if you need anything . . . absolutely anything . . . maybe just call to let everyone know that you and Jordan are okay," Eddie rambled he put his hand on my knee . . . I knew immediately that he forgot to asked me for my DNA . . . maybe he didn't forget . . . maybe he just figured that this wasn't the right time to ask . . . you don't ask someone who is covered in their girlfriend's blood . . . not by their own doing.

I walked back to the trauma room . . . the nurses were getting ready to move her. I stood next to Max and Garret both transfixed by the sight of her . . . the bruises becoming black against her skin . . . the redness of the blood that was being transfused into her body . . . the striking contrast of chestnut hair and ivory skin. We watched them wheel her and everything that was attached to her out into the hallway . . . they needed to make a quick stop at the CT scanner first . . . then she would be settled in the MICU on the third floor . . . we could go up to the family area and wait. I wanted to go with her . . . I wanted to go with her anywhere she went.

Max leaned heavily on the wall . . . I watched helplessly . . . I wasn't sure where to go . . . Garret said something about the third floor. Max and I followed him . . . he was the only one that was thinking right now.

Beth Israel – 10 am (Woody's POV)

I feel like I'm drowning . . . the water is red . . . I am inches below the surface, but I cannot swim to the surface. I see her . . . she's calling for me, but I cannot pull myself out of the water. I wake . . . my heart is pounding . . . my mouth is dry . . . I'm gasping for air.

I scan the room . . . Max is passed out in a chair on the other side of Jordan's bed . . . he's holding her hand . . . desperately clutching her hand. I had her other hand wrapped in mine . . . I lay my head on her bed . . . resting my head on her arm. I whisper a short prayer . . . I'll do anything if you let her wake up . . . I would do anything . . . I don't care what . . . I would give my life for her.

Momentarily, I wish that I was in the house with her last night . . . I would have given my life to save her. I never felt like that about anyone before . . . besides my parents. I reached for my cell phone . . . I dialed home . . . I knew I was violating code . . . it was a police issued cell phone . . . I'm sure they would let this slide . . . this wasn't an ordinary situation.

"Hello," my mom said . . . she sounded so cheery . . . just hearing her voice was an immense comfort . . . I wasn't sure what to say to her.

"Hi, Mom," I said . . . my voice was still audibly shaky.

"Woodrow, I hadn't expected to hear from so soon. Is something wrong?" she asked . . . it was out of the ordinary for me to call her in the middle of the day . . . I was normally at work.

"Mom, there's a lot that's wrong," I whispered . . . the words were stuck in my throat . . . I was dangerously close to crying.

"Woodrow, what's wrong?" Mom replied . . . she sounded more concerned.

"Jordan . . . Jordan was attacked last night . . . someone beat her and raped her. Mom, I'm not sure if she's going to be okay," I whispered . . . the tears were falling down my cheeks . . . the air in my lungs seemed to rapidly expand . . . making my chest hurt.

"Oh, honey . . . what can I do?" she asked . . . I didn't know what to say.

"Mom, I don't know . . . I don't know if anything would make this better," I whispered.

"Woodrow . . . I'll pray for her . . . I'll pray for you too. Honey, are you going to be okay?" she asked.

"I don't know, Mom. You know . . . I love you so much. I know I don't say it enough, but I want you to know how much I love you," I said . . . the tears falling a little faster now.

"I love you too. I need to get out to the barn, but I'm going to call you later. Woodrow, I love you so much," she said . . . I told her that I loved her too.

I picked up her hand . . . kissed each finger . . . I noticed something funny about her pinky . . . there was a large clump of . . . it was skin. I frantically dialed Peter . . . I tried to explain to him what I thought I found . . . it was wedged against her skin . . . . but it might be evidence. Little did I know . . . Peter was sitting in the parking lot . . . he had been sitting there for fifteen minutes . . . he was thinking about Dalton Park . . . what it was like to hold her while waiting for the paramedics. I went to the family room . . . I woke Garret . . . he insisted on staying for a few hours . . . he wanted the results of the CT scan and the EEG.

"Woody, I thought they took scrapings in the ER?" Garret said . . . he sent the nurse running for the equipment necessary to collect the skin . . . Garret put on a pair of latex gloves and began to inspect the rest of her fingers.

"I thought they did . . . even when she's in a coma, she's sequestering evidence," I said it without thinking . . . it made me smile . . . just thinking about all the times I tried to get her to explain her rationale . . . . she always made me play the role-playing game . . . that game gave me nightmares . . . I hated it, but she loved the thrill of getting into the killer's mind . . . to find out what the driving instincts were.

"That would be Jordan," Garret said cracking a smile.

"Do you think she can hear us?" I asked Garret.

"I'd like to think that she can . . . she's probably thinking that we are idiots for not making sure that all her fingernails were scraped. Jord, you've got to wake up . . . I don't know what to do without you running the show," Garret said as he washed her hands . . . pulled off his latex gloves, "You hungry?"

"No," I replied.

"Neither am I. Max should eat something . . . his diabetes . . . he should go home for a few hours. You should too," Garret replied.

"I want to stay . . . it doesn't feel right going home . . . I don't know if I can go home yet . . . not until the hallway is cleaned up," I rambled.

"Does it matter if it's cleaned up . . . it's still in your head," Garret commented . . . it was the rules that Jordan operated under . . . her mother's murder was in her head . . . it would always be preserved there . . . I was pretty sure that twenty years from now today would still be in my head . . . they don't make bleach for the mind.

"Jesus . . . how is she?" Peter asked . . . he was frozen in the doorway.

"Holding her own. The EEG shows brain activity . . . the CT doesn't show any brain abnormalities. Hopefully . . . it's only a matter of time before she's awake," Garret explained.

"I went to see Nigel . . . he's being discharged. He wants to come up here . . . Lily is trying to convince him to go home," Peter said.

"I should go back down to the ER . . . the scrapings are on the bedside table. Woody, go home . . . get yourself cleaned up . . . get something to eat . . . then come back," Garret instructed . . . he left the room . . . trying to deal with multiple crises at once.

"How's Max doing?" Peter asked . . . he stayed in the doorway.

"Tired . . . scared. He's been sleeping for about an hour," I replied . . . I rubbed my eyes.

"How are you doing?"

"I don't know . . . how's Nigel?" I asked trying to shift the direction of the conversation.

"He's worried about Jordan . . . not really thinking about the huge bruise on his head. The only time he cared about his injury is when they had to shave off part of his hair," Peter replied.

"I'm glad he's okay . . . they both were really lucky," I replied.

"Nigel a little more than Jordan. I should go run those scrapings . . . you'll call with news, right?" Peter asked.

"Sure. Make sure you get whoever did this," I said as Peter was leaving.

Beth Israel 7 pm (Garret's POV)

I had finally talked Max into going home for a little bit . . . I was hoping he was so tired that he would fall asleep and lose track of time. Woody was in the family room sleeping . . . Lily went to his apartment to get clothes for him to wear . . . something less sterile. She said that the carpet was being cleaned when she got there. He asked me to hold his cell phone . . . his mom was going to call . . . she wanted updates on Jordan. I gladly obliged as long as he would try to get some meaningful sleep . . . Jordan's doctor offered him some valium . . . I told him to accept . . . it would lull him into a deeper, more restful sleep.

I sat next to Jordan . . . listening to the machines beep. They all beeped at different times . . . I couldn't imagine being surrounded by this everyday . . . I didn't know how the doctors did it. The noise was unnerving . . . the inane rate of movement in the ICU floored me. The lady in the cubical across from us . . . she coded . . . I watched as they did CPR . . . injected her with a multitude of drugs . . . they defibrillated her three times. The doctors filed out of the cubical . . . defeat . . . I could hear the relatives cry . . . they had seen it all . . . the woman was thirty-eight years old . . . endocarditis. They had talked to me earlier in the afternoon . . . said I was a new face . . . asked how my wife was doing. I told them that she was my sister . . . she was holding her own . . . Irish . . . she wouldn't give up without one hell of a fight. The woman's family was hopeful . . . only to have all their hopes shattered later in the afternoon.

I read to Jordan . . . stupid articles from US magazine . . . paparazzi. I was sure that for every article I read her . . . I was making her dumber. Jordan didn't know the first thing about pop culture or television . . . if she could hear me, I gave her her first crash course. I read articles from Cosmopolitian Magazine to her . . . I didn't understand a damn thing in that magazine . . . two hundred dollar skirts . . . I complained about the content of the articles . . . I was sure that somewhere in her mind she was begging me to stop telling her about miniskirts and how to create beach hair without going to the beach. Jordan wasn't that type of girl . . . she was very organic . . . organic was the only way to describe her . . . you got what you saw.

Woody's phone startled me . . . I didn't recognize the number on the display. I had never seen a telephone number from a 920 area code . . . I figured it was his family calling to check on him and Jordan.

His mother sounded sweet . . . I immediately knew where he got that disposition from. Susan said she was at Logan Airport . . . she wondered where Jordan was . . . if Woodrow was still with her. I told her that I would send someone to pick her up in front of one of the concourses . . . just sit tight. I called Lily . . . she was surprised to hear that Woody's mother was here . . . he never talked about his family. Lily said she would make sure that Susan got here safely.

I didn't wake Woody . . . he needed to sleep. I wanted to sleep, but I needed to be the pillar of the family for a few more hours . . . I would turn that position over to Max or Lily in a few hours. I needed to head to the morgue . . . she if any progress had been made today. I told Emmy to call in all my favors . . . bring in any medical examiner she could find to help us stay on top of the routine autopsies. I wished I could hang a sign on the door saying 'gone fishing . . . be back later.'

"Garret, I'm Susan . . . it's good to see you in person," Woody's mom said as she entered the cubical . . . it startled me . . . she hugged me . . . tried to smile . . . she had this jolly look to her face . . . the soft lines on her face . . . smile lines . . . the warmth in her blue eyes . . . the same piercing blue as Woody's eyes, "How's she doing?"

"She's in a coma . . . she'll probably be like this for a few days," I replied. She leaned over Jordan . . . kissed her on the forehead . . . one of the only places not littered with tubes and IVs.

"What happened to Jordan? Woodrow won't tell me," Susan said as she sat next to Jordan . . . pulled out three huge bundles of yarn and began crocheting . . . my grandmother did that when she was nervous . . . I guess it must be some form of therapy.

"She was working on a case with Woody . . . they found too much incriminating evidence on some really public politicians," I explained.

"I'll never understand people," she commented.

"Neither will I," I replied.


	13. Chapter 13

Day 67: Beth Israel Hospital

Something is in my mouth . . . it's making it hard for me to breath or swallow. I feel like I'm underwater looking up at the world . . . everything is distorted . . . the colors run together . . . nothing has a definite edge. I feel like I'm choking . . . I want this thing out of my mouth, but my arms aren't responding to what my brain is ordering. Everything seems so surreal . . . it takes so much effort to even move my fingers . . . I feel like someone has placed a million little weights all over my body.

Every sound is amplified a ridiculously amount of time . . . my own breathing is deafening. There is a cacophony of loud beeps . . . I want them to stop, but I can't talk. I gasp for air . . . trying to bring my fingers to my lips . . . I want my mouth to be empty. I try to scream, but I can't . . . I want Woody here, but I don't even know what here is.

Woody's POV

I watch the news with Jordan every evening . . . I tell her about the cases that Eddie is working on. I try to talk to her about things I know she likes . . . Red Sox . . . Celtics . . . forensic science. My mom reads to her . . . we found a bunch of old books in Jordan's apartment . . . Dickens . . . Dickinson . . . Poe. Mom reads a few chapters to her every afternoon . . . Mom spends the rest of the day crocheting afghans. She's made one for Jordan . . . a deep maroon . . . Mom said the color made her think if Jordan . . . the intensity in her eyes. Mom is making another afghan for Jordan's nurse, Kimberly . . . she wanted to thank her for caring for all of Jordan's family.

Mom and I would play cards for the rest of the day . . . walk down the street for sandwiches for lunch. We were staying at Jordan's apartment . . . Max offered to let us stay at his house, but I couldn't be there . . . it would have been torture . . . knowing what happened there. I hadn't been back to my apartment or work . . . I spent most of my days at the hospital . . . Mom divided her time between taking care of me and taking care of Max and Garret. We normally all ate supper together at Jordan's apartment . . . it gave Max a break from the hospital and Garret a break from the morgue . . . my mother insisted that they ate at least one home-cooked meal a day. Dad said that she should stay in Boston until Jordan was out of her coma . . . Dad said the neighbors were helping out at the farm . . . Mom said that she would stay as long as I needed her.

Nigel had been to see Jordan only a handful of times . . . he felt so guilty . . . spent most of his time apologizing to me. I told him that he did what he could . . . I felt just as badly as he did. His wounds were healing quickly . . . he was the source of the only description of the perpetrator . . . average height, medium build . . . light colored hair . . . light colored skin.

Today, I was telling Jordan about last night's baseball game . . . I swore that I saw her eyelids flutter . . . this had happened once before . . . the doctor said that Jordan might just be in REM sleep . . . at least someone was getting good sleep.

"Mom, she's squeezing my hand," I said as I saw her eyes open . . . her ventilator was beeping loudly . . . I could feel my heart pounding . . . it looked like Jordan was gasping for air. The nurse ran in and ushered us out . . . doctors and medical students flew past us into the cubical. It felt like we were standing out there for hours before everyone began to file out of the cubical.

"Jordan is awake . . . she's very disoriented. I took her off the ventilator. Mr. Hoyt, she's well on her way to recovery . . . this is a huge step in her recovery," her doctor said . . . he looked extremely relieved, "Just try not to overwhelm her right now . . . one visitor at a time . . . keep her calm."

"Go. I'll call Max and Garret," Mom said as she kissed my cheek.

"Hey, you decided to wake up," I said as I held her hand.

"Woody . . . please help me," Jordan whispered . . . her voice was so hoarse.

"You're okay . . . I'm right here. Max and Garret are on their way," I said as I nervously began to stroke her hand.

"Woody . . . where's Nigel?" Jordan asked . . . sounding a little incoherent.

"He's okay . . . just needed some stitches. He came to visit you yesterday . . . he said he misses you," I explained . . . I wiped the tears from her eyes.

"Am I okay?" Jordan asked . . . her eyes were darting around the room.

"You will be . . . you are a very lucky lady," I said trying to stay optimistic.

"What time did the gas station open?" Jordan asked . . . it struck me as an odd question, but maybe it was the pain medication talking.

"What gas station?" I asked.

"The one on Mill Road . . . it's where the guy stabbed me," Jordan replied . . . sounding more serious . . . looking my direction.

"Jordan, I didn't find you there," I replied . . . thankful that there was the distinct possibility that she would not remember the sexual assault.

"Where did he dump me?" she asked . . . I didn't want to answer her . . . I let the cubical fill with silence.

"Jordan, you should rest . . . you are safe now. Don't worry about anything besides getting better," I replied trying to divert the conversation to something safer.

"Woody, did he dump me in Dalton Park?" Jordan asked.

"No, Jordan . . . let's not talk about this," I replied.

"Woody," Jordan begged . . . I knew she was trying to ask if this was in any way linked to Ellington.

"Jordan . . . I found you . . . in the hallway in my apartment building, but you were lucky . . . that's what's most important," I replied as I kissed her cheek . . . she was trying to cry, but her body was still so tired that the tears wouldn't come.

"I'm so sorry," Jordan whispered . . . she knew what it was like to 'find' someone you loved.

"You shouldn't be . . . I'm the one that's sorry. We can talk about this some other time . . . right now, I need you to work on getting out of this hospital," I whispered . . . I kissed her hand.

"I want to go home," Jordan said . . . she turned her head to look at me.

"I want you to, too," I whispered, "My mom came to see you."

"Did you take her to the ocean yet?" Jordan asked . . . I couldn't help but to smile at her.

Day 67: Gas Station on Mill Road (Nigel's POV)

"Nigel, you don't have to be here," Bug said as we combed the area behind the gas station . . . Peter and Garret were searching the drainage ditch a few yards away.

"Bug, I need to be here. Jordan needs us all to be here," I said . . . I saw something shiny out of the corner of my eye, "Bug, I found her earring . . . it's the one I got her for Christmas."

"You guys exchanged presents?" Bug asked sounding a little offended.

"Not really, every year I send something to the morgue . . . anonymous. Something to make the holidays easier . . . I don't think she knows," I said as I put the small bauble into an evidence bag.

"Nigel . . . Bug, we've got a knife . . . same kind Max said was missing from his house," Peter yelled.

"I'll take it back to the morgue . . . I guess it's my time to shine," Bug said . . . promptly heading over to the ditch . . . ready to get started . . . see if this was weapon . . . we needed some sort of break.

Garret didn't tell me much about the case . . . I had to spend most of my time snooping to figure out what happened that night. I spent hours at night going over the case file . . . the pictures of where I laid on Max's kitchen floor . . . the blood against the linoleum floor. The pictures outside Woody's apartment were more gruesome . . . the sheer amount of blood on the cream colored carpet . . . it made my stomach turn.

I spent hours pouring over the DNA evidence . . . the skin matched the semen . . . XY chromosome. I checked the results against the national database and the databases of other countries. The knife . . . it was probably Jordan's blood, but that wouldn't lead us to a suspect.

Our best hope was the surveillance tape . . . I said I would take care of that. Dr. Macy told me that Peter was going to help me . . . I didn't want to help . . . I just needed to be alone. I wanted to work through all this alone . . . but if I did need to work with someone, I wanted Peter . . . he didn't ask the same questions that Bug and Dr. Macy asked me . . . he didn't know me well enough.

Peter and I drove the morgue . . . he insisted upon driving . . . he said I looked like I needed a break . . . couldn't argue with that. Peter said that Dr. Stiles was snooping around the morgue again . . . he was looking for me. Peter said Dr. Stiles cornered him yesterday . . . wanted to know how he was coping . . . Peter said that he wanted to help make an arrest . . . he channeled his anger into his work. I said something about wanting to feel like I did the day that we went to the capitol building . . . I had never felt that good about my work before . . . I felt proud . . . the void I carried with me felt full.

Jordan and I weren't too different. My family was just as fragmented as her own . . . I grew up watching my father beat my mother . . . he would beat me only when he was extremely drunk. My mother was a saint . . . she took care of my father every time he got dangerously close to dying from alcohol poisoning. She died last year . . . cancer . . . my father didn't want to spend the money to get it treated. I sent her part of my paycheck each week . . . he probably stole the money, but in my imagination, Mum was seeing a doctor and taking medicine to at least ease her pain. Realistically, Dad probably stole my money . . . probably used it at the pub or the gentlemen's club. I no longer had a reason to go home to England . . . I was happier here in the States . . . Jordan was willing to help me get my citizenship . . . just as Bug had last year.

Peter and I poured over the tape for hours . . . the first camera was useless . . . it was inside the store . . . the second camera was in the employee break room . . . . I had to wonder what the use of that camera was. The third camera . . . it was of the small loading dock were Jordan had been assaulted . . . we watched the entire attack . . . the man kicked her in the ribs . . . beat her over the head with part of a broken palette that was nearby . . . he didn't stab her . . . he just slashed her skin . . . tortured her. The attack made me think that he wanted her to suffer as much as possible before she died . . . his plan had gone perfectly accept one problem . . . Jordan didn't die.

I couldn't watch the rape . . . I became horribly nauseated . . . my head hurt. I could hear Peter gagging . . . he left the room hurriedly . . . disappeared into the men's room. I called Dr. Macy . . . said that we had ample footage . . . asked if we could send it out for analysis . . . said it was extremely graphic. Dr. Macy said he would call around . . . he was not excited about putting the tape in transit . . . where it could be intercepted.

I watched the man rape Jordan . . . I managed to get two really good head shots. I blew up the face . . . called Dr. Macy back . . . he said to call Eddie . . . make sure that that picture got out to every television station in the northeast. Eddie was ecstatic . . . I faxed him the pictures . . . if he hurried, he could get the pictures to the news stations before the 10 pm report.

I looked for Peter . . . he was in the office he shared with Lily . . . moonlight flooded in from the window. Peter shuffled papers from one corner of the desk to the other corner.

"Are you okay?" I asked him . . . as I leaned on the door frame.

"I'm sorry . . . I couldn't watch anymore," Peter apologized.

"I found two good head shots . . . I was able to clean them up pretty well," I replied.

"That's good . . . we could all use some good news," Peter replied.

Day 70: Beth Israel (Woody's POV)

He collapsed lung has healed . . . the doctor removed the chest tube this morning. Jordan is trying to be much more active than she should be . . . wanting to get out of bed . . . begging to come home. She asked me to stay the night . . . she was afraid to be alone . . . I told her that I would stay . . . slept in a chair next to her bed waking up every few hours to make sure that she was okay. Max took Mom to Jordan's apartment . . . I told Jordan that we were staying there. Jordan said she understood . . . said that I should stay there permanently.

"The last thing I thought about was you," Jordan commented.

"Jordan," I replied . . . I didn't know what to say . . . maybe 'I'm sorry I didn't stay with you' . . . or 'I'm such an ass for blowing you off.'

"Woody, you get frustrated with me because I don't talk . . . why won't you let me talk to you now?" Jordan asked . . . she looked so bewildered . . . confused . . . scared . . . like a small child trying desperately to figure out what she did wrong, "They aren't investigating you, are they?"

"No, it's not that . . . my alibi checks out . . . Eddie is only following procedure by questioning me and asking for a sample of my . . . ," I cut out abruptly . . . she did not need to know that she was raped . . . she didn't remember it . . . I knew someone needed to tell her . . . it would come out at a hearing . . . she would hear about if we ever watched the news or read the newspaper.

"Eddie asked for what?" Jordan asked . . . she knew damn well what I was asked for . . . she just needed to hear me say it to make it real.

"Jordan."

"Did Eddie ask you for a DNA sample?" Jordan was yelling now . . . she looked distraught . . . she knew why I was asked . . . it wasn't because my skin was under her fingers . . . it wasn't because my DNA was on the knife . . . she knew . . . I could tell from the look in her eyes.

"Jordan, he did . . . Eddie asked me for a DNA sample. I'm so sorry . . . I should have been with you that night . . . I'm sorry I let you down," I said looking at the floor . . . the tears threatening to fall down my cheeks.

"God, why didn't anyone tell me? I had the right to know," Jordan yelled at me . . . I could hear her sobbing.

"Jordan . . . I didn't want to set back your recovery . . . . you are just starting to get stronger . . . the doctor told me to keep you calm," I replied softly . . . I wasn't sure if she heard me over her sobbing . . . she rolled over in her bed . . . turning so she wouldn't have to face me.

"You should go," Jordan said coolly.

"Jordan, I love you. I didn't do this to hurt you," I said as I stood up from the chair . . . I didn't have anywhere to go.

Jordan's POV

I hadn't even dreamed that I was raped . . . I would have liked to have thought that I was just severely between and left for dead . . . that seemed less personal. Rape was so personal . . . this man . . . he took something from me . . . without asking.

I know I'm not a saint . . . I've had one-night stands . . . I've been the other woman . . . I've lead men on. I don't deny any of that, but I don't see how the punishment fits the crime. I've spent so much time working to keep people out . . . to keep them from hurting me . . . no wall was thick enough to prevent this kind of hurt.

I feel bad for asking Woody to leave . . . it wasn't his fault. I remember my internal medicine rotation in medical school . . . I treated a girl that was raped. She was beaten so severely that she was hardly recognizable . . . her face looked inhuman. She was hooked up to machines for days . . . on the day that she came out of her coma, the attending instructed us not to tell her about the rape . . . it was set back her recovery. The psychiatrist was called in a few days later . . . when her memories started coming back.

I strained to remember what happened at the gas station, but I couldn't remember anything that I thought was important. Eddie was frustrated with how little I did remember . . . I remember a vague description . . . I did see him under the lights at the gas station, but coma had blurred these memories. Maybe it was a blessing that I would never have nightmares about being raped . . . it was more like a footnote to my story . . . easily overlooked.

This was the first time that I was alone. I didn't like it . . . I wanted Woody to come back. I knew what survivor's guilt felt like . . . he was handling his guilt much more gracefully than I ever had. I needed to ask questions . . . I needed to find out what happened to me . . . more importantly, I needed to find out who did this to me.

I picked up the telephone . . . dialed the number frantically . . . I didn't actually know the number . . . my brain had it on speed dial somewhere. I grew more and more antsy as I listened to the phone ring . . . I wondered where the hell he could be.

"Hello?"

"Dr. Stiles . . . could you come see me? I need to talk to someone," I said.

"Jordan, I'll be there as soon as I can," Dr. Stiles said . . . the phone hung up.

I stared out the window at the moon as I waited for Dr. Stiles . . . I wasn't sure what talking would do . . . make me feel better . . . make me relive being stabbed . . . make me ask questions that had answers that terrified me.


	14. Chapter 14

Sorry there haven't been any updates lately -- I'll try to be better!!

Day 71: Beth Israel Hospital 2 am (Woody's POV)

"Jordan is asking for you," Dr. Stiles said as he sat in a chair next to . . . I sat motionless in the family waiting area . . . I had no where to go after Jordan asked me to leave, "I want to talk to you first . . . do a little State mandated psych evaluation."

"Is she still mad at me?" I asked . . . it was a stupid question . . . I sounded like a five year pouting after being reprimanded.

"She's not mad at anyone . . . . Jordan is frustrated. She wants to understand why she has been victimized. This is the first time in her life that she has felt weak," Dr. Stiles replied, "Jordan doesn't want to run this time . . . she's doing her damnedest to go home. She's embracing therapy . . . trying to be a better person. Jordan is doing this so she can be with you."

"It's hard . . . I blew Jordan off . . . she said that she wanted me to stay with her. Jordan begged and cried . . . she always tells me that she feels safe around me. Why didn't I stay with her that night?" I rambled . . . I highly doubted anyone would think of giving me my gun and badge back after this evaluation.

"Why didn't you go to her?" Dr. Stiles asked . . . I didn't want to talk to him . . . he tried to make me confront everything that I tried to hide from.

"I was working on the case . . . that damn case has taken over my life. I'm afraid that if something doesn't break soon . . . I'm not going to be able to keep Jordan safe," I replied.

"So you were doing what you thought would keep her safest . . . trying to figure out who is behind the roses, the beating, and the rape?" Dr. Stiles parroted.

"Yes, I thought I would see something . . . come up with something that I hadn't before. I just want her to be safe . . . I didn't want her to have to be 'baby-sat' each night . . . I just wanted to give back her freedom. You know Jordan . . . she gets scared when things get too claustrophobic . . . I just didn't want her to run anymore," I explained.

"How is doing what you think is best wrong?" Dr. Stiles asked.

"I promised to keep her safe . . . I didn't live up to that promise," I replied . . . it set in that I had not kept my promise . . . I realized the enormity of the mistake that I made . . . this was huge . . . unforgivable.

"You shouldn't make promises that you cannot guarantee you can keep. Garret tells me that you found Jordan," Dr. Stiles commented . . . I was sick of talking to him . . . he was making everything real . . . everything was setting in . . . until now, I was so focused on Jordan . . . I hadn't begun to think about myself, "How did that make you feel?"

"I couldn't even think . . . I thought that she was dead. She wasn't moving . . . I couldn't even see her breathing. I just held her until the paramedics got there . . . I'm a cop . . . I'm supposed to be able to deal with emergencies, but I just sat there," I replied . . . I had never talked about this . . . I only relived it in nightmares . . . waking up in a cold sweat . . . ending the dream with violent nausea.

"You weren't a cop at that moment . . . you were Jordan's boyfriend. She didn't expect you to be a cop . . . I bet that she was just happy to be comforted in her time of need. You did a wonderful thing for Jordan by loving her as you have," Dr. Stiles commented.

"I feel like I should be doing more," I replied . . . I started to feel less angry . . . had she died . . . I would have wanted her in my arms . . . I wished that she would remember the things that I had said to her while we were waiting for the ambulance . . . I told her that I loved her . . . she just needed to hang on . . . I couldn't live without her . . . I needed her . . . I'd always need her. This wasn't fair.

"Go in by Jordan . . . be patient with her. Listen to her . . . even if you don't want to hear it. Woody, stop building the walls . . . if you stop, she will stop," Dr. Stiles said as he stood up.

"Thank you," I replied . . . sitting still for one more moment.

"Call if you need me . . . I make house calls," Dr. Stiles said laughing . . . gesturing to the room around him.

I held my breath as I walked to Jordan's room . . . I wasn't sure what to say to her . . . I just wanted to wrap my arms around her . . . tell her that I loved her.

She was sitting up in her bed . . . her knees to her chest . . . just looking around . . . scared to be alone. Her face softened . . . I think she tried to smile.

"I was afraid that you left," Jordan said as I sat in my chair next to her bed.

"I don't have anywhere else to be," I replied.

"I didn't mean to get mad at you . . . I'm mad as hell at who ever did this to me. I don't remember anything that is going to help catch this person . . . this thing that brutalized me," Jordan replied.

"I know . . . I know. I'm glad you don't remember . . . you have enough to live with . . . you don't need to remember the details. It's bad enough that I'll always remember the details," I said.

"I'm glad you're here . . . I wish you didn't understand," Jordan replied.

"Understand what?" I asked confused.

"What it's like to see red blood against a pale surface . . . to wonder how much blood a person can lose before they die . . . to wonder what would have happened if you woke up five minutes earlier or later," Jordan rambled . . . the tears ebbed at her eyes . . . she tried to blink them back . . . she told me that she was getting sick of crying.

"Jordan . . . I'm glad Eddie called when he did," I replied.

"Can you hold me?" Jordan asked . . . she tried to smile . . . I sat on the edge of her bed . . . she sat next to me . . . leaning heavily on me . . . I wrapped my arms around her . . . kissed her forehead.

"Do you still love me?" Jordan whispered.

"Always," I whispered.

"Even after . . . you know?" Jordan asked.

"How could I not love you?" I asked.

Day 72: Morgue (Garret's POV)

Everything about this case pisses me off. All our evidence leads us in circles . . . we have three crime scenes . . . nothing at those crime scenes has given me any information about the identity of the monster that brutalized Jordan. Nigel and I have gone over the case file a dozen times . . . we've investigated Ellington . . . we've played Jordan's game.

I sit in my office . . . confronted with all the other work I need to do. I need to finish signing release forms . . . I need to review all the autopsies the Peter has been handling for me . . . I need to do my laundry . . . I need to go grocery shopping. These all seem less important than the case file sitting in front of me.

Max called me today to let me know Jordan is getting out of the hospital tomorrow. Woody is going to be staying with her . . . Susan is flying home tomorrow . . . Woody and Jordan are taking her to see the ocean. Max is worried about when Woody goes back to work . . . he's not sure how to protect Jordan anymore. I agree . . . I told Max that I've made sure the Jordan is receiving all the money from her paid vacation and disability . . . it's enough to make sure she has a full paycheck for the next few weeks. Max thanked me . . . he knows that young detectives don't make much money . . . plane tickets to Wisconsin aren't cheap. I told Max that Woody is lucky . . . he has an anonymous benefactor . . . paid for Susan's ticket.

Eddie called me nearly the second I got off the telephone with Max . . . he's been busy following up leads. He's released the composite Jordan and Nigel made . . . there are posters all over Boston . . . the news stations have been ending all their broadcasts by showing this man's picture. Nigel is working on comparing the composite with those of the neighboring states . . . he's exhausted . . . so am I.

I push the papers around my desk . . . constantly caught up in this case. Only now, do I understand the baggage that Jordan has been carrying around . . . it's everywhere . . . every face I see in the street . . . I'm examining it for a Roman nose, wild eyebrows and dark brown hair . . . maybe a faint scar on his right eyebrow. This is an insanity that I never knew existed . . . it was so much easier to be withdrawn from every situation . . . to observe carefully rather than dive in haphazardly . . . I could never be like Jordan.

I go to see her every day. The lady in the room next to Jordan's always asks me to walk with her down the hallway . . . she reminds me of my mother. Gladys is frail . . . maybe eighty years old . . . hunch backed . . . a head full of tightly curled white hair . . . white as the snow falling in December. Gladys says that I am a nice man . . . I remind her of her son . . . died years ago in a car accident . . . she thanks me for the stroll . . . asks if my sister is doing well . . . I smile and help her into a chair next to the window . . . she is alone the same way that I am alone . . . she has no family except for a slightly younger sister in New Jersey. I enjoy her company . . . even if it is only for a few minutes a day.

Jordan and I watch Jeopardy in the afternoon . . . it gives Woody and Susan enough time to go get something for lunch. Jordan lets me win . . . she's slowly becoming someone that I no longer recognize. She doesn't have that carefree, to-hell-with-the-rules attitude . . . she's quieter . . . much more careful in planning her actions . . . everything about her is becoming so well thought out . . . I'm sad to see her changing . . . I admire her . . . I could never say it publicly, but I think she knows.

I see Woody changing . . . the innocence . . . it's gone. He came to Boston so innocent . . . not hardened . . . it's changing. He's serious . . . Jordan has commented on it too . . . she says she misses when his eyes used to be the color of the ocean . . . she says they are dark . . . dusky. She says that their relationship is becoming awkward . . . she says it is hard to be intimate . . . I tell her to take her time . . . she says that her life can't possibly be going slower.

"Dr. Macy," Lily says . . . bringing me out of my trance, "Bug says he needs to see you . . . something about Jordan's case. He's in trace evidence."

"Sure . . . thanks, Lily," I say dryly as I pull myself out of the chair . . . head over to trace. Bug, Nigel, and Peter are huddled around a computer screen.

"What's going on?" I ask.

"Turns out that Ellington was involved in a scuffle last night at the Metro . . . the security camera caught every bit of the action," Nigel said . . . he was furiously typing . . . trying to focus the video.

"This guy sounds strangely similar to the guy that attacked Jordan," Bug commented.

"Get me a picture and I'm heading to the Metro . . . Eddie said he would meet me there," Peter said trying to get Nigel to go faster.

"It's him," Nigel whispered as the video came into focus . . . a scar on the right eyebrow.

"I'm going with you," I said . . . I barely recognized my voice . . . I was looking at the person that attacked Nigel and raped Jordan.

Day 72: The Metro Upscale Eatery (Garret's POV)

"He was here last night . . . racked up a large bar tab . . . seemed like he was celebrating or something," the bartender said . . . New York accent . . . Brooklyn maybe.

"Was Ellington with someone?" Peter asked.

"An older lady . . . maybe his wife . . . then some guy . . . weasel looking . . . we had to lend him a jacket . . . he was dressed too casually," the bartender rambled.

"Do you still have the jacket?" I asked.

"Yeah," the bartender replied . . . looked at me funny.

"Was it washed or dry cleaned?" I asked.

"No, we don't normally clean them that frequently," the bartender replied.

"We need to collect the jacket as evidence," I replied.

"You'll need to talk to my boss," the bartender commented.

"Who paid for the drinks?" Peter asked . . . the bartender looked nervous . . . he said he never had spoke to the police before . . . I wanted to tell him that we weren't the police, but then he would stop talking . . . I needed him to talk.

"Ellington . . . he gave me a good tip. That guy yous are interested in . . . looked like he got paid to, but it sounded like he was upset . . . they started arguing . . . the host needed to asked them to leave the bar area. It sounded pretty serious," he replied.

"Is this the guy?" Peter asked as he handed the bartender a copy of the composite that Jordan and Nigel had made.

"Yeah, it's him . . . is he in trouble for something?" the bartender asked.

"Attempted murder, rape, and two counts of assault," I replied.

"Wow . . . this city is full of sickos," he replied . . . I imagined that it was worse where ever he came from.

"You may have just helped us catch on of them," Peter replied.


	15. Chapter 15

Day 73: Fisherman's Wharf

"It's beautiful," Susan whispered as we watched the waves crash against the shore . . . the jagged rocks . . . browns and grays . . . their color intensifying with each pass of the cool salty water, "I've always wanted to see the ocean."

"I know," Woody whispered . . . he seemed entranced by the tranquility of the ocean . . . I felt lost in its enormity . . . it's uncertainty . . . afraid of what might be lurking below the magnificent dusky blues and grays.

"Jordan, dear . . . are you too cold?" Susan asked . . . she wrapped her hand around mine . . . the white, plastic hospital bracelet was still encircling my wrist . . . a constant reminder.

"No . . . I'm not really sure," I said rambling . . . it wasn't the same voice I had a few months ago . . . it shook . . . I couldn't think of the last time I sounded like this . . . suicide . . . right after I attempted suicide . . . my voice shook.

"Is this too overwhelming for you, dear?" Susan asked concerned . . . she had been so much like a mother to me . . . she combed my hair this morning . . . I woke up exhausted . . . . like I had never fallen asleep . . . I really hadn't . . . the nightmares. I stopped letting Woody stay in my hospital room . . . it was time for him to start spending time with Susan before she needed to leave . . . he reluctantly relented. Susan told me that he finally went back to his apartment . . . to pack . . . everything was in boxes . . . she said it happened in record time . . . the landlord was kind enough to let him out of his lease.

"No, I'm just not used to being around so many people," I replied . . . Susan smiled . . . Woody asked me if I wanted to go home . . . we were taking Susan to the airport this afternoon . . . I assured him that I was fine . . . he wrapped his arms around me . . . we stared at the ocean . . . he whispered 'home is right behind you.' Home was right behind me, but home was becoming such a foreign place.

We all walked along the shore . . . the park full of children . . . the summer slowly fading into autumn . . . the wind a little cooler. It felt good to have the wind in my hair . . . but I wanted to go home. It was so much safer to have walls around me . . . this was too open . . . he could just walk up to me . . . stab me . . . rape me. I knew that was unlikely, but it always lurked in the back of my mind . . . I could see it in Woody's eyes . . . scanning the crowd . . . looking for him . . . it would always be there.

Tonight would be our first night alone in my apartment . . . our apartment . . . he never asked to move in with me . . . I guess he figured that there was no way that I would say no . . . I don't think I could handle to be alone . . . I wanted him with me.

"Jordan," Susan said . . . pulling me out of my trance, "Dear, are you okay? Woodrow, we should take her to Max's . . . this is too much."

"No, I don't want to go back there," I gasped . . . horrified of the thought of going into the kitchen . . . seeing where Nigel lay motionless before I was attacked . . . the sheer panic of the situation made me collapse to the ground . . . my knees buckled under my own weight . . . gravity took me the rest of the way. The grass was cool . . . the ground hard . . . a few on-lookers rushed over . . . Susan shooed them off . . . Woody picked me up.

"You don't have to go anywhere you don't want to . . . let's take you to the morgue . . . we could call Lily . . . see where she is," Woody offered . . . he helped me stand . . . I was wobbly . . . horribly embarrassed for making a scene.

"I don't know where I want to be . . . Can I go see Nigel?" I asked . . . I cursed myself . . . I sounded like a child. Nigel rarely came to see me . . . he said he felt like he didn't protect me . . . I told him that I couldn't even protect myself.

"Anything you want," Woody said . . . trying to smile . . . pretend that everything was okay . . . the sound of the ocean rang in my ears.

Day 73: Morgue (Peter's POV)

I watch Bug sleep silently . . . his head is on his desk. I'm a little jealous . . . Nigel and I haven't gone to sleep for well over twenty-four hours. We've combed the jacket for any piece of evidence possible . . . Nigel was busy trying to examine a handful of fibers we found on the inside liner of the suit jacket. No one else had worn the jacket since the last time it was cleaned . . . only by the stroke of luck . . . it seemed like luck and circumstance had been fighting us the entire way.

It's hard not to care about this care . . . . it's too easy to care too much . . . the reminders are all around us. I think of how lucky I am that I wasn't at Max's with Jordan . . . I don't think I could have put up the fight that Nigel did . . . the kitchen was destroyed . . . pots . . . pans . . . knives littered the floor . . . Nigel was lucky that it was only a frying pan that connected with his head. I wish that I could rewind the clock . . . go back one year . . . I should have kept to myself . . . built the walls that I had let crumble . . . maybe then this case wouldn't keep me awake every night. The residency application does not tell you that this morgue is like a family . . . it didn't tell that these people would let you in . . . even if you didn't ask to be let in . . . one day you wake up and you are part of the family.

I've been struggling with a DNA extraction . . . Ellington must have connected with this guy's nose . . . there was some blood on the sleeve . . . smear of blood . . . hidden by the darkness of the fabric . . . revealed by the fluorescent glow of the blue light. My first two extractions failed . . . two of Bug's failed . . . I threw a test tube at the wall . . . Bug said he needed a cup of coffee . . . he fell asleep before he sat down in the chair. I only had a few more centimeters of blood smear to work with . . . I needed to make this work.

"How's the extraction going?" Garret asked as he set a steaming cup of coffee next to me, "I thought you might need it."

"I can't get a sample . . . Bug can't get a sample . . . why is this whole damn case fighting us every inch of the way," I replied getting a little more pissed off as I reflected on our circumstances.

"Nigel has good news," Garret replied . . . waited for me to look up at him hopefully . . . anything to put this to rest, "He has a fiber match . . . a 1999 two door Chevy Blazer . . . they are hard to come by . . . there weren't many produced that year. Only three hits in Boston. He also found some cat hairs . . . Eddie scheduled a press conference . . . they will be starting in two hours."

"Cat hair and a fiber isn't going to sway a jury," I commented . . . growing more and more frustrated.

"It's something . . . Peter, go home . . . get some sleep. Don't come back until 8 am . . . that gives you over sixteen hours to sleep," Garret replied as he walked towards the door, "There's always tomorrow."

"We don't know that for sure," I replied grimly.

"You're talking like Jordan . . . now, go home," I replied.

"Who's talking like me," Jordan said . . . trying to smile. I was impressed with how much she has healed . . . the black eye . . . the swollen cheek . . . all the cuts . . . everything was so superficial . . . it didn't even scar.

"Aren't you supposed to be with Woody?" Garret asked.

"I was. He needs to talk Susan to the airport . . . I'm not that good with people anymore," Jordan replied . . . looking a little embarrassed . . . blushing a little.

"Hey . . . you were never good with people," Garret said as he hugged her . . . she smiled . . . the tears ran down her face.

"Is there anything that I can help with? I need something to do . . . I've been just about going out of my mind," Jordan replied . . . releasing Garrett . . . quickly wiping the tears from her face.

"How are you at extracting DNA?" I asked . . . yawning.

"An expert," Jordan replied . . . trying to be the person that she was months ago . . . it was hard for her to do.

"Want to give it a try?" I asked as I stood up from my stool . . . helped her up on it . . . she said that she wasn't as strong as she used to be . . . I pulled another stool up next to her . . . I was mesmerized by how her hands moved . . . it seemed like this was second nature for her . . . Garrett and I silently watched her move with an intricacy that neither of us would ever know.

"Jord, don't overdo it," Garrett warned her, "Peter, keep an eye on her."

I nodded.

"It's awkward, isn't it?" Jordan asked.

"What?" I questioned . . . I knew what she was getting at . . . I knew that she knew this DNA was somehow connected to her case.

"People look at me different . . . it's like what happened to me is the dirty secret that everyone in the room knows about, but doesn't want to mention," Jordan replied . . . taking me a little off guard that she wanted to be open and honest . . . she wasn't normally like that . . . I never remember her ever just wanting to talk to me.

"We are making progress . . . we've been killing ourselves to make progress. This isn't going to go unanswered," I replied . . . watching her load the vile of potential DNA into the PCR.

"It won't change how I feel about myself and the world in general," Jordan replied . . . . she was right . . . revenge would only be a momentary release from the burden that she was going to have to carry around for the rest of her life.

Day 73: Jordan's Apartment (10 pm)

"That's the last bandage," Woody replied as he took the latex gloves off his hands . . . I lay half naked across my bed. Some of the wounds were slower to heal . . . the nurse showed Woody how to change my dressing . . . he dutifully took care of my tortured body, "Jordan, everything is healing perfectly . . . you look so beautiful."

"I'm ready for bed," I said trying to change the conversation . . . I reached for a bulky t-shirt to cover all the bandages and memories . . . I didn't feel beautiful. He ran his fingers along my spine . . . I pulled the t-shirt over my head . . . I tried to shut down everything before it started.

"Jordan . . . did you want me to leave?" Woody asked confused . . . the whole day had been confusing . . . trying to figure out my role in society . . . trying to feel comfortable with the fact that the man that did this to me was walking the streets . . . probably waiting for me to let my guard down.

"No, I'm just tired . . . you know, my first day back in the real world," I replied as I pulled back the sheets . . . I was nervous . . . sharing a bed with him didn't seem this complicated a few weeks ago.

"Jordan, is everything okay?" Woody asked he lay down next to me in bed . . . turned out the light.

"Is the door locked?" I asked.

"Yes . . . the deadbolt and the latch are locked. I checked already," Woody replied he ran his hands through my hair . . . I inwardly cringed . . . the last time I was in a real bed . . . Nigel and I were ambushed by an intruder . . . the loudness of the hospital was a comfort . . . there were always people watching me . . . it was an odd comfort. The silence and darkness of the apartment was unsettling . . . it ran in my ears, "Jordan, are you going to be alright?"

"Can we give this more time?" I asked.

"Give what more time?" Woody asked.

"Everything . . . I'm just not ready. Maybe once the wounds heal," I replied.

"Jordan, you need to stop looking in the mirror . . . everything looks worse than it really is. Did you want me to call Dr. Stiles in the morning? Maybe you could get back in the routine of seeing him a few times a week," Woody suggested . . . I couldn't even imagine how hard it was for him to be shut out again . . . I had built my walls thicker and taller while I was in the hospital . . . he knew what was entailed in bring those walls down.

"Could you? How much longer are you off of work?" I asked . . . rolling over to face him . . . trying to give him an opening . . . a way back into me.

"Another week . . . or as long as you need me. Jordan, does everything have to be small talk?" Woody asked . . . growing more and more exasperated with my attempts to keep every conversation from becoming personal, "Jordan, don't build these walls again. I want to help you?"

"How are my walls different from the walls you have been building?" I challenged him.

"Building walls and being protective are two different things," Woody countered . . . he sat up in bed . . . swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"So looking at everyone suspiciously is being protective? I miss you . . . sometimes I just want to hear someone say something optimistic . . . I want to hear you laugh or get mad at me for doing something stupid. I want you to stop looking at me like I'm a victim . . . like I need to be saved," I rambled . . . choking on all of the words . . . the tears were hot against my cheeks . . . forming steadily flowing rivers.

"I'm sorry . . . this hasn't exactly been a trip to the park for me," Woody said cynically . . . I began to laugh . . . it was the same cynicism he had in him voice when he would lecture me about following up leads . . . I knew it was some where in him . . . I was glad I found it before it was squandered.

"Why are you laughing?" Woody asked confused.

"Could you please tell me what has been a trip to the park for you?" I replied laughing a little harder . . . his way of wording his anger always made me laugh . . . he always had to dance around his feelings . . . never show anger . . . never show disappointment.

"You are impossible . . . one minute you are mad . . . the next you are making fun of me . . . class act, Jordan," Woody replied frustrated with me . . . making me laugh harder . . . I thought I heard him laughing too.

He laid back down next to me . . . kissed me. He told me that he didn't understand me . . . that I was being difficult. I asked him to use a Wisconsin-ism for me . . . some cheesy phrase to capture the exact emotion of the moment . . . they were always deeper than the sounded. He asked me to shut up and kiss him . . . maybe we weren't as dead inside as we thought we were.


	16. Chapter 16

Day 80: Morgue

He watched me walk into the building . . . didn't pull away from the curb until he knew that I was inside. He wanted to walk me up to my office, but I reminded him that he was already late for work . . . he kissed my cheek . . . told me to stay out of trouble. I promised I would . . . told him that I hoped today would be an ordinary, boring day . . . he smiled . . . said that I've never had an ordinary boring day. I quipped that I hoped today would be my first.

The hallways felt a little bigger. I was glad that my first appointment of the day was with Dr. Stiles . . . low pressure . . . I had been seeing him everyday with week . . . he was impressed with how I embraced therapy. I even managed to drag Woody with me a few times . . . he said that routine and normalcy would be all it would take to get him back to normal. I didn't think that was true . . . I thought it would probably take an arrest . . . if not a violent police beating . . . I hoped that it wouldn't come to that.

I made my way to the fifth floor . . . I used to hate going to the fifth floor, but now Dr. Stiles was a comfort rather than a pain in the ass. His secretary waved me into his office . . . she was busy talking on the telephone. Her name was Marilyn . . . a sweet woman . . . she always pushed cookies or candies on me . . . said chocolate goes a long way in curing wounds of the heart. I need something stronger than that to cure the wounds to my body, mind, soul, and heart . . . I couldn't even think of a comfort food that could do any of that.

"Jordan, how are you doing this morning?" Dr. Stiles asked . . . smiling at me . . . he pushed a cup of coffee toward me, "I thought of you this morning when I was getting coffee."

"Thank you," I replied . . . graciously accepting the hot liquid.

"Are you ready to start work today?" Dr. Stiles asked . . . I knew what he was getting at . . . are you ready to face the probability of receiving bloodied roses, threatening telephone calls, or something potentially much worse.

"I need something to do . . . I need to start thinking again . . . maybe even get a little lost in my work. I need routine to fill what seems like endless hours wondering about if and when he's going to find me and kill me," I replied . . . rambling . . . sipping my coffee.

"I think work will be good for you . . . you are happiest when you are being the hero rather than the victim," Dr. Stiles replied, "Will you be going on pick-ups?"

"No. Garrett has me sequestered in the morgue . . . until an arrest is made . . . unless the is a mass casualty event," I replied, "He said that he has a few cases lined up for me . . . some bones they found in an abandoned warehouse and a floater found in the bay."

"How do you feel about that?" Dr. Stiles asked.

"I feel good about working . . . I have a new appreciation for life . . . thinking about the victims makes me a little sadder than it used to . . . now that crime has become so personal," I replied.

"How is your sadness? Are the antidepressants helping you?" Dr. Stiles asked as he scribbled a few notes on my chart.

"It's getting better . . . some days are good, others are bad. I can't watch the news anymore . . .I'm sick of seeing that damn composite . . . it sickens me to know that all of Massachusetts knows that I was tortured and raped," I replied . . . that was a particular sore spot for me . . . I had been publicly I had been labeled a victim and weak.

"Understandable. How are you and Woody doing?" Dr. Stiles asked . . . giving me that sympathetic smile that I had grown to hate.

"Good . . . better once we both get back to work. He's been a little stir crazy . . . a little paranoid about leaving me alone . . . more angry," I replied.

"Do you understand why he feels that way?" he asked me.

"I do. It's the same way I felt about my mother . . . I used to cling to my father before he would leave for work . . . terrified that something would happen to him . . . he would be murdered too. I'm still angry," I replied.

"Is Woody going back to work today too?"

"He's doing some light duty for a week or so before Eddie is going to put him back out on the street," I replied.

"Is there a reason why?"

"He's angry . . . Eddie doesn't want him to arrest who ever did this. Eddie and I are both pretty sure that the guy wouldn't live to see another day. I understand why he is so angry . . . what do I do to make pass faster?"

"Wait . . . be patient . . . talk . . . be open with yourself. That will probably bring him around. How is your relationship?"

"Better . . . it's good when he loosens up. He yelled at me yesterday for squeezing the toothpaste from the center not the end . . . we spent about an hour bantering . . . point out these ridiculous imperfections that we both have. He started laughing. We started cooking supper together in the evenings . . . he seems really happy when he's in the kitchen . . . it relaxes him . . . gives him a chance to rib me about how I can't cook at all," I replied . . . smiling as I think about how we have successfully managed to live in harmony for a week . . . despite all the tensions consuming out lives.

"Have you been intimate with him?"

"I'm not ready for that . . . it's not that I have flashbacks of the rape . . . I don't remember a damn thing about that . . . I don't want to remember anything about that. It's more like I can't get used to my body . . . it's all foreign to me. I look different in the mirror . . . much skinnier . . . and I still have a chest tube wound that is healing slower than hell . . . a few bruises that don't seem to want to fade. I don't feel comfortable with myself . . . so I don't feel comfortable with anyone seeing me like this."

"Have you talked to him about resuming your intimate relationship?" Dr. Stiles asked . . . the way he danced around the words threatened to make me laugh . . . it was this sweetness that I never had seen in him before.

"Yes . . . he said that he understands . . . he's been so patient with me . . . never asking for anything from me."

"Let's talk about how you are going to ease back into your own skin," Dr. Stiles prompted.

"I'm going to go back to work . . . start rebuilding my life. I'm going to start spending time with my family . . . I'm going to start living the way that I should have been living for the last few years. Woody and I are going to Kewaunee for Christmas," I replied.

"Jordan, I can't believe how much you have grown up . . . I think you are going to be okay," Dr. Stiles said with a smile.

I was beginning to think that I was going to be okay.

Day 80: Boston PD (Woody's POV)

"Hey you want to go on a very special arrest?" Eddie said smiling as he poked his head into my office . . . I had been banished to cold case files for a week . . . I was about to take a stack of them over to the Pogue . . . Max and I were going to entertain ourselves for a few hours.

"I thought I was on desk duty for a week," I replied . . . I felt tired . . . I would wake up almost hourly to check on Jordan . . . make sure that the apartment was empty.

"My informant . . . he gave me a name to match the composite. All signs are pointing to Alonso Demani . . . the guy used to be a bounty hunter . . . apparently, he got a reputation for being to rough with criminals. Word is that he started working as a hit man," Eddie rambled, "No guns for you . . . you are going to sit in a squad and watch. You are in no circumstances to get within fifty feet of this guy."

"I'm ready to go," I replied . . . pulling on my suit jacket . . . handing my gun to Eddie . . . I knew that there was no way I should be hanging on to it . . . there was a good chance that I would shoot now, ask questions later.

The ride through the suburbs seemed to take forever. Eddie was trying to make small talk . . . asked about Jordan and Max. I wasn't interested in talking . . . I was more interested in getting this guy into the station and getting a DNA sample from him.

Alonso's house was like any other house on the block . . . toys scattered on the front yard . . . little yellow house with white shudders . . . even a white picket fence on the lot line. It seemed so normal . . . so respectable. It seemed wrong that he lived what looked like such a normal lifestyle. I watched the multitude of squads surround the house . . . I sat glued to my seat . . . I didn't feel anything . . . I mistakenly thought that I would feel satisfaction . . . I felt nothing. It was like watching a movie unfold right in front of my eyes. I watched Eddie wave the swat team in . . . Eddie said something about surveillance on the house . . . he should be here alone.

The man put up one hell of a fight . . . he lobbed bullets through windows at the officers . . . I watched two hours of negotiations and gun fire unfold . . . I had barely moved an inch. I wanted to see his face . . . I was deathly scared that he would take his own life . . . I wanted just for Jordan . . . I didn't want him to wind up in her morgue.

I wondered just how much ammunition Alonso kept in the house . . . the gun fire seemed endless . . . short intermissions were taken to talk to the negotiator. Alonso demands were simple . . . he wanted to see his wife before he surrendered . . . he said that he would talk . . . he just needed to see his family. He also wanted to talk to Ellington . . . I knew that he was looking for a way out . . . he thought Ellington would be able to save him. Little did I know, Ellington was being dragged out of his penthouse and thrown into a squad car . . . it was Ellington's turn to justify his actions. Eddie did a damn good job of keeping Jordan and I out of the loop . . . I knew didn't want her to have to see any of this . . . he didn't want either of us watching the interrogations . . . too much information . . . too many things that would break open the wounds that were just beginning to heal.

The woman was beautiful . . . she had long black hair that glimmered in the sun. She walked up to my side of the squad car . . . motioned for me to roll down the window.

"Are you Detective Winslow?" she asked politely . . . she looked terrified out of her mind.

"No, I'm Detective Hoyt . . . can I help you?" I replied . . . her mouth formed a small 'o' . . . she blanched white as a ghost.

"I'm so sorry . . . I didn't know who he was working with . . . I didn't know about any of this . . . I should have turned him in sooner," the woman said as she began to sob hysterically . . . it was his wife . . . she looked genuinely upset . . . not upset about her husband being found out, but upset about having to see one of the people who's life was nearly ruined by her husband.

"Mrs. Demani . . . let's go find the negotiator . . . your husband wants to talk to you before he is arrested," I said as I got out of the squad . . . walked her over to the old man on a cell phone with Alonso. I couldn't help but listen as she talked to him . . . saying that it was time to give up . . . saying that she was sorry she turned him in . . . saying sweet things about loving him . . . but what he did was wrong . . . he hurt so many people . . . he wasn't going to hurt her or his daughter. She became angry . . . confronting him about the rape . . . saying that she always protected him . . . saying that she stuck up for him each time her niece said Alonso did 'bad things' to her. Eva told him that it was time to be rehabilitated . . . or he would never see her or their daughter again. It sickened me to hear her story . . . I began to gag as she talked about her niece . . . I needed to excuse myself . . . before I vomited. I walked back to Eddie's squad . . . sat on the curb next to the car . . . emptied my stomach onto a sewer grate . . . it didn't make me feel better . . . I just kept thinking about Jordan . . . hoping that her day was going better than mine.

Day 80: Morgue – 3 pm

"Jordan, are you ready to head home for the day?" Nigel asked as he walked into my office . . . I was looking at crime scene photos . . . trying to figure out the story behind my skeleton.

"Yeah, just waiting for Woody," I replied smiling . . . I was feeling good today . . . it felt good to be a productive member of the team again.

"You knight in bullet-proof armor on a stand-off . . . he wanted me to take you home," Nigel said . . . his voice a little shaky . . . he was pretending to be okay with protecting me.

"Let's go get a pizza and rent a movie," I suggested, "Interview with a Vampire."

"Sweet Nancy . . . you are the best girl on Earth. You really know how to take the pressure off," Nigel said smiling . . . he kissed me on the cheek . . . helped me out of my chair.

"You do know that it's not your fault . . . I'm just happy you are okay . . . that we are both okay," I replied, "That's all the matters to me . . . I just want everyone to make it home safe at night."

"Jordan, thank you," Nigel said as he took my satchel from me . . . we walked hand in hand down the hallway.

"For what?"

"Not blaming me . . . for being brave," Nigel replied as we waited for the elevator.

"Thank you for trying to bring me justice. We need to celebrate . . . my first day of freedom," I replied smiling . . . feeling like I used to . . . free.

"Mushroom and tomatoes," Nigel said smiling . . . his hair was in a ponytail . . . the same way that mine was . . . it hid the stitches.

"Pepperoni and green peppers," I replied.

"I missed you," Nigel replied.

I missed me too.


	17. Chapter 17

Day 80: Boston PD – 10 pm – Interrogation (Woody's POV)

I nearly had to beg Eddie to get him to let me watch Ellington being interrogated. Even in the face of mountains of forensic evidence, he didn't budge . . . he smirked . . . said that this wouldn't be going that far . . . he had a call into Governor O'Leary . . . I'm sure he didn't anticipate that the governor was in the process of calling Garrett to find out exactly what was going on.

"The altercation with a Mr. Demani . . . could you please explain to me exactly why you and your wife we dining with a hit man?" Eddie asked coolly.

"He's a private detective . . . I thought maybe I could find someone to solve my daughter's murder faster than your men," Ellington lied . . . he tapped his fingers on the table . . . I watched in pure horror . . . seeing the coolness in his eyes . . . the lack of respect for life . . . for others.

"Demani isn't a private detective . . . he makes it very well-known that he's a hit man . . . you want to see his confession where he spells out how you commissioned him to murder Dr. Cavanaugh and Detective Hoyt?" Eddie said as he pushed the confession towards Ellington . . . Demani decided to cooperate . . . he put down his guns peacefully . . . said that he would sing . . . anything we wanted to know about Ellington, "I don't think very highly of people trying to kill public servants."

"Well, I can assure that I thought he was a private detective," Ellington replied he took off his red silk neck tie . . . ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair . . . smiled at Eddie . . . his smile made my stomach turn.

"How did you pay him for his services?" Eddie asked.

"I didn't pay him yet . . . I just took him out to dinner to find out his progress," Ellington lied.

"Well, it appears as though you made out a personal check to him . . . one hundred thousand dollars . . . not to mention all the cash you gave him . . . the waitress told me all about that," Eddie replied smiling at him . . . he pushed a copy of the check towards Ellington. Lying appeared to second nature for him . . . it disgusted me.

"Are you trying to tarnish my good name? Isn't it bad enough that those twits Jacobson and Davidson extorted me . . . do you want to ruin me?" Ellington replied.

"You want to take a polygraph . . . that's if you have nothing to hide," Eddie offered.

"I want my lawyer," Ellington replied . . . he appeared to be shaken.

"Do you want to meet Detective Hoyt . . . maybe you could talk to him about how you hired someone to kill him and his girlfriend?" Eddie badgered . . . God, I didn't want to have to go into that room . . . I could feel my knees shaking . . . I could feel myself holding my breath . . . waiting for him to answer, "He's watching you right now . . . just wave at the glass . . . there's a person standing right back there."

"I'm not playing this game," Ellington replied . . . .quickly turning away from the mirror . . . trying to put this all into context . . . quickly figuring out that it wouldn't be easy to get of this situation.

"I don't really give a damn because every word in this confession is going to take you down . . . what kind of man kills his own daughter . . . let's his political staff rape and kill teenagers . . . tried to kill a cop and a public servant," Eddie kept going . . . pushing him harder and harder. Ellington was turning bright red . . . barely able to contain his anger.

"They deserved it . . . those damn greedy whores got what they deserved. My daughter was a dirty slut . . . all she wanted was money, so she could support her coke habit and screw whatever man walked down the street. Not during an election year . . . this shit wasn't going to fly . . . she knew that, but she pushed me. You people want me to clean up the streets and make Boston safer . . . I did what I needed to . . . I should get a damn medal for what I've done for Boston," Ellington screamed at Eddie.

"That doesn't make you a hero . . . it makes you a sick bastard," Eddie replied . . . he push a blank confession form and pen in front of Ellington . . . he got up and left the room . . . leaving Ellington with his thoughts.

"How you doing?" Eddie asked as he stood next to me . . . we watched Ellington pick up the pen . . . began to write . . . tell his story of murder and deceit.

"I should go home . . . he's not getting out is he?" I asked cautiously.

"No, there's no way any judge is going to let him make bail . . . I'll talk to the DA about getting him booked ASAP," Eddie said . . . he put a hand on my shoulder, "This is over . . . you and Jordan can move on with your lives."

Now I knew what freedom felt like.

Day 80: Jordan's Apartment – 11 pm

"Jord, Nigel," I called out as I walked into the apartment . . . it was pitch black . . . just the glow of the television illuminated the room.

"Long day at work," Jordan said . . . I could barely see her in the darkness.

"You could say that . . . we need to get to the Pogue . . . I don't want to keep Max and Garrett waiting," I said . . . trying to find the light switch.

"Aren't you tired? I'm not really feeling like going out," Jordan replied.

"I should get going, love," Nigel said yawning . . . he hadn't been expecting to stay so long.

"We need to go out and celebrate," I said . . . I finally found the light switch . . . turned it on . . . Nigel and Jordan were squinting in the sudden onslaught of light.

"What's to celebrate, Woodrow," Nigel said as he collected his jacket . . . rubbed his eyes.

"Ellington is spending his first night behind bars . . . the hit man is also going to be joining him. They both inked confessions this evening," I said . . . smiling . . . tears forming in my eyes . . . I had called Mom on the way home to tell her . . . she broke down in tears . . . she was so happy . . . she wanted to meet Jordan once she was healed . . . see what her daughter-in-law was like without the pain and suffering.

"Oh, Woody," Jordan said . . . not knowing what to say . . . just finding her way into my arms . . . I kissed the top of her head . . . I could feel her tears warm against my chest.

"So it's over?" Nigel asked suspiciously.

"It's over," I whispered . . . I'd never been happier to see a case closed.


	18. Epilogue

Christmas Morning – Kewaunee, Wisconsin (Woody's POV)

I roll over . . . her body is wedged against mine. She's snoring softly . . . our flight landed in Milwaukee late last night . . . the drive was long . . . three inches of virgin snow on the roads. The house was silent . . . the clock says that it's only four in the morning, but I am wide awake.

I savor the silence of the early morning . . . it is one of the only times that I can be alone with my thoughts. Most of our time has been occupied with hearings and the beginning of the Jacobson and Davidson trial. Jordan was called to testify twice . . . once as a medical examiner . . . the second time as a victim. Garrett, Bug, and Nigel were slated to testify within the next week . . . they said the trial was a piece of cake compared to presenting their evidence to the governor. I'm glad that my part is done . . . three days on the witness stand . . . talking about everything you could imagine . . . death threats, bombs, the postal service . . . everything right down to why Jordan and I fled the state.

The worst days are yet to come . . . the Demani sentencing and the Ellington trial. Everything about those days are going to be so graphic . . . Julie, the DA, has asked Jordan to make a personal statement to Demani prior to his sentencing . . . Jordan is trying everything possible to get out of it. She says that she's moved on . . . that she's just going to let it go . . . her nightmares tell me a different story. She wakes up in the middle of the night gasping . . . reaching for her neck. Dr. Stiles keeps telling me that this is normal . . . the trials . . . they are going to make her remember things . . . those words are going to consume her life. He says my job is to make sure that Jordan knows this is over . . . to be patient with her . . . just be there to talk or to listen.

She does talk about the last few months . . . for the woman that would never talk about her feelings, some days I can't get her to stop. She will roll over in bed . . . and just blurt out something about how she feels. I'm lucky that most of the time she is thinking about the good times . . . she likes to talk about being in Wisconsin . . . sometimes she talks about moving . . . she tends not to focus on Dalton Park, Leopard and Lace, or the gas station . . . she would drive on empty rather than ever go there again. I understand her fears . . . I know I have my own . . . I refuse to let Jordan sleep alone at night . . . I stay up until she is asleep . . . I check all the locks on the doors . . . I sleep with my cell phone on the nightstand and my gun in the top drawer of the bureau. It's hard not to be a little paranoid . . . but my paranoia is limited strictly to taking care of Jordan. I can finally walk down the street without scrutinizing the intentions of everyone that I see . . . I don't think everyone is a murderer . . . I don't think every politician is a sleaze, but it has shaken my belief in how we recruit and elect our political representatives.

I kiss her forehead . . . her eyes flutter . . . she looks up and smiles . . . I'm not sure if she's still sleeping. So much changes over the course of a few months.

"Merry Christmas," I whisper . . . she smiles again.

"Sometimes you are such a big kid . . . did you always wake up at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning?" Jordan says . . . she's still smiling.

"No, I'm not used to sleeping in a bed this small," I quipped . . . she laughed as she gave back some of the blankets she had been hoarding.

"We should have taken the sofa sleeper," Jordan replied . . . we let Max have the more comfortable bed . . . we didn't want him to be alone on Christmas . . . Mom insisted that he join our family for the holidays.

"I want to go show you something," I said to Jordan . . . I sat up . . . swung my legs over the side of the bed . . . the floor freezing against my bare feet.

"Woody, no . . . it's too early," Jordan said as she pulled herself to a sitting position.

"No, it's the perfect time," I said as I pulled on my clothes . . . Jordan reluctantly got up . . . disappeared into the bathroom. I quickly pulled on my shoes and set out Jordan's winter jacket, hat, and mittens . . . I quietly ran outside. I had commissioned my nieces to make two snowmen . . . a man and a woman. I slipped the ring on one of the snowgirl's fingers . . . I snuck back to the house where Jordan was waiting impatiently in the bedroom . . . she said that she was still tired, but she took hold of my hand as we snuck out of the house.

"Aren't they perfect," I said referring to the snow-couple.

"You woke me up to show me snow?" Jordan asked . . . she made a snowball and threw it at me . . . hitting me square in the back.

"My nieces made them . . . you should go look at how good of a job they did," I replied . . . suddenly getting nervous.

"They're nice . . . very nice work for a five and six year old . . . ," Jordan said trailing off as she saw the ring glimmering in the moonlight . . . it rivaled all the stars in the sky, "Woody?"

"Jordan, I love you so much . . . I need you so much. Will you marry me?" I asked her . . . she whipped around to see me down on one knee . . . she kneeled down next to me . . . kissed me . . . tears running down her cheeks, "Jordan, you need to say yes or no."

"Yes, yes," she whispered as she hugged me . . . kissed me again, "I love you."

I loved her too . . . sometimes I was amazed with how much good had stemmed from so many ugly things. Dr. Stiles once asked me if I could turn back the clock, would I . . . I'm not sure that I will ever have the answer. I, of course, wish Jordan didn't have to live with all the physical reminders of being attacked . . . twice . . . being violated . . . once. But then . . . I wonder if she would have ever fallen in love with me without the last few months . . . I wonder if I could have handled just being her friend . . . watching her flirt with other men . . . maybe watching her get married someday.

So much has changed . . . we've been to funerals . . . we've been to baby showers . . . we've sat at the edge of hospital beds . . . supporting each other the entire time. We were lucky . . . so lucky that what now is called 'the political scandal of the century' has done nothing, but make us stronger.

"Aren't you supposed to put the ring on my finger?" Jordan asked . . . snapping me out of my thoughts . . . she threw another snowball at me . . . I threw one back at her . . . her laughter was infectious . . . it was better than I ever know . . . she didn't laugh much . . ever, but something has lightened in her.

"I can't if you attack me," I said as I pulled her close to me . . . her breath warm against my cheek . . . her nose bright red even in the moonlight.

"Well, we can call a truce until morning . . . Susan said Cal and you used to have these 'snow wars' every Christmas morning. I'd like to help you this year," Jordan replied . . . I pulled off her glove and slipped the ring on her ring finger . . . she asked me not to put her glove back on . . . she just wanted to see it glimmer in the moonlight a little longer.

Jordan was paying for my brother, Cal, to fly in from LA. Cal in turn was going to be able to see his girlfriend and son for the first time in over a year . . . he didn't come home much. We didn't talk about him much, but I missed him. Jordan knew that seeing my family was important . . . so she pulled as many strings as she could . . . all without me knowing . . .she said it was but one of my Christmas surprises.

We walked back to the house in silence . . . I wrapped her left hand in my hand . . . she still refused to put on her gloves despite the nearly arctic air. We tried to sneak back into the house . . . like teenagers . . . giggling . . . kissing.

"Jordan, are you trying to wake up the whole damn neighborhood?" Max grumbled . . . he stood next to the door in his robe and the thick flannel pajamas that Jordan had bought for him.

"No . . . I was trying to wake up the whole county," Jordan replied.

"Woodrow, I hope you didn't wake up the cows," Susan said laughing . . . she knew . . . Max was out of the loop . . . but Mom knew . . . she was the one that thought up the idea.

"I'm sure they will live," I replied.

"What the hell were you doing out in the cold? You probably have frostbite on your nose," Max ranted.

"Dad . . . it's okay. I'm glad that I went outside to see the snowmen . . . one had a little surprise for me," Jordan said . . . Max's jaw dropped when he saw the ring.

I had never felt so happy before . . . the joy of the moment was enjoy to wash away what felt like a million years of pain.

I knew that it would only get better from here.


End file.
